Every time I cook, I’m abounding with sweet memories of my grandma. Every summer, all of us— six cousins used to gather at our grandparents' home like being at a training camp. They taught us everything—from life skills like opening windows quietly so we wouldn't disturb the sleeping neighbors, to chopping onions and garlic and pounding them just right in the mortar, to simply being kind and respectful to one another, many many more.
In the kitchen this evening, I can still hear her voice, imagine the old kitchen we used to have conversations, the yellow bucket she used to carry to the market. I feel those moments as if they’re happening all over again. It feels like she’s still out there somewhere and I’m just away from her—my grief for her is something I carry with me forever—it is often difficult, I confess but sometimes it’s also joyful to think of the good memories and to remember what a remarkable person she was. She had an extraordinary life, loved and looked out for herself, her family and everyone surroundings and in the community.
Also, cooking specifically “shrimp” today fleshed back a vivid memory of my childhood. Growing up in a lower-middle-class family, whenever we cooked meat especially shrimp, we would have to ration them carefully because they were not cheap. But even with those limits, there were always leftovers because we would put love first over everything. Having lived a life with financial instability is not a time I like to revisit, even in my memory but now, in my 30s, I realize that we never let that poverty and struggle drown our compassion, love, and care for each other. For that, I am grateful to my family especially my mom and my two younger peas.
Being nearly 8,000 miles away and figuring everything new out alone, I miss home every day, but today, I’m feeling it a bit extra. 💖💖❤️🩹
