Prologue

This is an excerpt from a story I have forgotten the title. It is from a literary portfolio of the Ateneo de Manila University, "Heights." The story is about the process of baking and learning it. This was the introduction of the story. This part is memorable to me because it shows how parents teach their children new things, just like baking.
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"Kneading dough is difficult," my mother would tell me, "and not just because your hands are small." Standing behind me she would guide my hands into the pliable dough that was warm with the warmth of her hands and the heat of the summer day.

"It is difficult because you are impatient. Maybe because you are young," she would say while placing her fingers around mine and guiding them slowly through the dough. Our fingers looked very brown and rich in contrast to the lifeless white dough. "You knead like you love it." She pulled my hands out of the dough and then plunged it once again, slowly and gently. "It's like the way you show your love for me or for your loved one, just like a firm embrace, but with much love." She would pull my hands out and tell me to sprinkle more flour on the kitchen table. "The flour will make it lighter. In baking, as in life, you must learn to give, and to love." Then, my mother would remove her hands and let me do it myself.