FFeatureseatures
On Food as a Love Language
"The world begins at a kitchen table.” - Perhaps the World Ends Here, Joy Harjo
Think of hot meals made by your mother. Think of cut up fruit from your father. Think of your grandmother cooking your favorites when you visit, then giving you second helpings of everything.
Think of eating dinner together with your family, chatter and laughter filling the air. Think of someone asking, "Kumain ka na ba?” (Have you eaten?). Think of cooking done with love, always with love. Think of handed down family recipes. Think of someone standing in the kitchen, in front of a hot stove, cooking so you can eat. Think of peeling oranges and sharing with others. Think of family gatherings, with more food than you can eat, with relatives telling you “kumain ka pa” (eat some more), or “kuha ka lang” (feel free to get). Think of hands that brave the heat and oil. Think about the holy act of cooking for and eating with the ones you love. Think of packed lunch. Think of hearing your parents say, Makita lang kita kumain, busog na ‘ko” (Looking at you eat, I'm already full).
One of my fondest memories with my group of friends is our tradition every lunch at school. We’d sit huddled together, lay out our lunch boxes, and share. One’s food became food for all. We’d talk and laugh and eat, until our stomachs and hearts were full. Sometimes I’d braid my friends’ hair or we’d open a window. One time I brought a mango and we shared. It was bright yellow, perfectly ripe, and so, so sweet. We had no knife to cut it up, so we peeled it and took turns taking bites. In between passes, we’d laugh at the absurdity of our situation, and we became happy, sticky messes. They were little things, but they filled me up with so much love.