The experience of cooking nine porridge is 50 words.

Maybe children owe their parents too much in their last life, so God arranged for us to be their children in this life to repay their kindness in their last life. Everyone wants to pay off this debt. But it doesn't seem that easy.

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Year after year, day after day. It's the ninth festival again. But people are carried away by too many complicated emotions in the world and forget that there are two people in this world who are really worth remembering all the time. Those are our parents.

We may not remember their age, but we must never forget the increasing wrinkles on their faces, because that is what we imposed on them; We may not remember their birthdays, but we must never forget their telephone numbers, because that may be the only way for us to contact our parents.

Every household has a strong smell of glutinous rice porridge. My parents did it for themselves. Their children may be running around in a desolate town, but they forget that today is such an important festival. Old people may call with anticipation to ask if their children can come back for the New Year, but the answer isno. Have they considered the feelings of their elderly parents? Disappointed in the end, there is only helplessness and loneliness.

Remember last year's Oktoberfest? My mother and I went to the supermarket to buy the ingredients needed to cook glutinous rice porridge, and then came back to cook it ourselves. That kind of warm scene is still looming in front of us. Our family of three gathered around the kitchen, doing the work assigned to them, without saying much. That steaming is the best proof.

The porridge is ready. I put them on the table in a hurry, but there was silence after I sat down. I think I should say something to them, but I don't know where to start. Just when I was worried, my mother gave me the dates in the bowl. She said it would be better to eat more jujube peel.

I am stupefied. This seems to be what I should say. But why did mom say that? I choked up, didn't know what to say, and finally began to cry. This should be a happy holiday, all because of me. I want it back. I scrambled to clean up the dishes and chopsticks, and scrambled to wash the dishes. I just want them to know that my daughter still loves them.

So the ninth festival gave me a very deep memory.