To “use rice” was not a metaphor, it was literal—my mom loved to regale me with stories from the Philippines about how the sari-sari store in their province, where they usually bought all their supplies, didn’t carry glue for envelopes or wrapping paper when she was growing up. They simply used cooked rice instead—spreading it with their fingers like a thin paste, one grain at a time. Suddenly my Prozac notebook didn’t look so bad anymore!
