Universe in a Chinese restaurant

Spending your childhood in a box sounds like an unacceptable torture method yet it is the widely accepted way of raising millions of children in urban areas. There is no escape for these kids from the avenues of asphalt and confines of concrete. Unless they are sent away to a random farm for nature camp, they might not even know the serenity of the world they are missing out on.

The Usera neighborhood in Madrid is full of delicious and inexpensive Chinese restaurants and I find myself regularly eating at a place called Pasta Wok (https://www.google.com/maps/pl...).

A quick side note about Usera: they say it is one of the dangerous parts of Madrid. The only danger is that you're finding more dumplings here than jamon iberico. The Spanish, or even European standard for what constitutes as a dangerous place, seems to be wherever has the highest chances of a drunk man exclaiming that he is an anarchist.

Anyway, at Pasta Wok there are 3 employees - the couple that runs the restaurants, serving as its chefs, waiters, accountants, etc, etc, and their daughter of roughly 6 years old, who provides entertainment by dancing on chairs and conversing with customers.

This child's sole existence seems to be in the restaurant. Her parents are there 7 days a week, maybe 14 hours a day, working tirelessly to serve food as quick as they can at the lowest cost possible. She is limited to the small space of about 5 tables. She can't freely run outside (she'll encounter the drunk men exclaiming he is an anarchist). She might not even know yet what lies beyond the street the restaurant is on. I'm convinced they all sleep in the back cellar.

Yet she is so joyful, child like, curious. She has no shame in plopping herself down next to the 38 year old construction worker, with his grim expression, and asking him why we don't have beds that can fly.

Her and I talk for awhile. I'm not even eating my food because I want to be as engaged as possible with her. She deserves the attention, and love, that she might not get throughout the workday from her parents. It must be hard when clients come and go - just as she gets the ball rolling with them, they're asking for the bill and are on their way. Where is a friend that will stick around?

The mother notices that I'm not indulging in my wonton soup after silly chatter with her child. She wants me to eat the food while it's hot. I actually prefer room temperature food and will gladly let it sit for 15 minutes before my first bite.

The mother passes by and swoops the girl up. I'm not sure what she said exactly, but my assumption is something along the lines of "leave this man in peace so he can eat".

And then it happens. She starts to cry. Boredom, maybe, she is reminded of the pure boredom that can come from being isolated here. The realm of fun here has a limit.

Her mom anxiously grabs her hand and they prance out the door. They shortly return, and the girl has candy and the biggest smile.

And then my intrusive thoughts kick in. Sugar isn't good for her…

This candy is a temporary cure for an anticipated childhood of suffering…

Why didn’t we get her something more stimulating? Like a puzzle?

Who am I to question what this mother provides her child? Doesn't she know the best solution, as this probably happens daily?

She's working relentlessly to keep her restaurant going, she can't afford to think about all of these 'well being' questions.

But if she gets cavities because candy temporarily stopped her crying, is this really worth it?

I watch the girl consume her neon blue sugary shapes full of emulsifiers. Maybe next time I come here I'll bring her a puzzle.

I had been seated at the small table top in the restaurant, with a mirror right in front of me. I typically sit here as a solo client. I enjoy the mirror because I can stare myself in the eye. Check in with myself. Check in on the wrinkles forming around my face from tequila shots and all nighters in my early 20's. And also give myself a smile. 

She returns to me content after her treat. She seems tired, and knows that I will be on my way soon. Rather than continuing the conversation, she simply points to the top of the mirror. And I see it - her entire universe.

There is a small green sticker of a leaf in the right corner of the mirror in front of me. I had sat in this same seat dozens of times. I have always looked into the mirror. I never noticed the green leaf that was always there, within eye sight. All that time staring into my soul at this mirror. To not even see what is right in front of me.

And how many others have sat here, doing the same thing? Am I blind? Or are we all simply just focused on ourselves? Is it that hard sometimes to see what is right in front of us?

Trapped in this restaurant, her entire universe revolves around the little things she can do to pass the time. To create something. To leave her mark. To put out an easter egg. To see if her subtle signs can catch anyone's attention.

Above the eye level mirror, is a second mirror. I seldomly looked up at the second one during my visits. I did, and I notice on the second mirror even more. A sticker of a banana and a peach (or flower? Or sunset?).

Her entire secret universe is out there, in plain sight. What else has she scattered around the restaurant to leave her trace?

I thank her for showing me, and tell her that I understand.