Beef Soup

In my family, my mom values the food we eat and always tries to cook for us rather than letting us eat outside. My mom's signature dish is Taiwanese beef soup. The soup was thin with the combined taste of tomato and beef. It was supplemented with many traditional Chinese spices such wolfberries as well as some parsley. Not only did they contribute some taste to the soup but they also added colorfulness. The taste of Beef, of course, was the focus of the soup.
When I was a student in in Taiwan, I often times was overburdened with homework and daily exams. I frequently had to stay up late to study, therefore, I was always fatigued and had dark circles that made me look miserable. Every morning, I remember arguing with my mom over and over again about the beef-tasting soup she forced me to drink before going to school. Whenever I insisted on not having the soup, she always looked at me in my eyes angrily with tears coming down to her cheeks, saying, "The soup will make you less tired, and if you don't drink it, I will not let you go anywhere." I replied angrily, yelling " This soup is just like any other soup. No need to keep nagging me to drink it." However, as much as I wanted to argue with her, I often got tired of arguing. Therefore, I finished the soup quickly with several gulps and left the house, feeling annoyed and detached from her.
After I first came to study in the United States, I occasionally had to stay up late to study and work on projects. I was not as exhausted as I was in Taiwan. It was until my junior year of high school when I started feeling a kind of unprecedented exhaustion. Every morning, I struggled to keep myself
awake in class; moreover, I felt dizzy sometimes and had to stay home because of severe nausea. I was not hungry even though I did not eat; therefore, my weight went down abruptly.
I missed home. I missed being looked after. I missed my mom's beef soup- the blend of the tomato with beef and the supplement of parsley. Moreover, I missed the warmth of it when I put my hands around the bowl, sipping the soup.
I understand my mom. I totally do. She wanted to be feel warm on winter days. She wanted me have more energy. As I kept finding these incentives that made her wake up four o'clock every morning to prepare the soup, I found my tears dripping down from my eyes, feeling regretful for arguing with her. I miss her, and I miss the soup.