When I was young, everyone told me that I looked like, “Napabayaan ka ata sa kusina.” (It seems that you were neglected in the kitchen.) It was because I weighed a lot for my age, and I actually spent a lot of time in the kitchen. I liked eating; I still do. Many memorable moments with my family happened over food. A lot of unfortunate childhood memories also happened over the dinner table. My friendships were built around food. There is just not a day that I don’t ask myself, “What do I want to eat today?” Sometimes I crave for certain food that bring specific memories of people I miss.

Now that I live far from home, in a country where some people have asked me, “Do you like food?” I was bewildered. At first, I couldn’t understand where the question came from. Over time, I realized what they meant, and why they asked such question. But it was of course a solid, “Yes.” No explanations needed.

I already thanked my parents for teaching me how to cook. I think out of all the things they expected me to thank them for, my cooking skills was at the bottom of the list. But I just can’t imagine a life far away from home and not being able to recreate the dishes that comforted me in my stressful university life. I can’t imagine going out with friends and not having to share food. I can’t imagine being left to myself in a gray country without the ability to reconnect to my roots through the flavors I’ve grown up with. My cooking is a lifelong process of both recreating new flavors and chasing the familiar flavors I’ve loved since I was young.

I attempted to write how my memories are highly intertwined with specific dishes that my parents made. I also made peace with the regrets of not being able to help my parents when I was younger. This book are accounts of several moments in my life when I wish I spoke up to let my family know what I felt. But at that moment, nothing made sense. So now, here it is – Letters from the kitchen / Mga liham mula sa kusina.