Descriptive Essay About Cheetos

Clink after clink, my chopsticks mindlessly scoop Hot Cheetos into my mouth. I close my eyes, and the spicy, artificial flavor of the Cheetos that linger on my lips are instantly cooled as the metallic chopsticks slide out of my mouth. As I continue to shovel my mouth with Cheetos, my fingers remain stain free from the Cheetos’ red coating. Eating Cheetos with chopsticks may appear completely wrong, but the way the chopsticks sit between my fingers feels so right. I love eating with chopsticks and try to use them any chance I get. My special “go-to” pair is metallic with faded red and white floral detailing from accidentally dish-washing them. Each time I use my chopsticks, I’m reminded by my inner voice that I could be using forks to eat my salads and my spaghetti. However, I ignore this voice as chopsticks are one of the few ways I can connect with my Chinese heritage. I came here as an immigrant when I was nine months old in the arms of a stranger with red hair. Via train and planes, through blurred faces and unfamiliar noises, new clothes, smells, and tastes, I made my way to the O’Hare Airport,

I stayed with a host family (a father, mother, and a younger sister) where I witnessed certain Chinese traditions such as wearing slippers in the house and got to eat real authentic Chinese food. I acclimated to the air pollution and the cheap prices, as well as the many different smells and crowds that filled the city streets. I went on that trip hoping to find my roots, or at least some form of them, and to see if I could blend in with the crowd. While my expectations were high, I slowly realized that people could tell that I was an American. My host sister even told me that I “looked American.” Throughout my six weeks in China, my host family showed me who I really