A familiar site: Heart on Food.

Mornings were different back then--there were abundance of sunshine to fill my starving youth, and birds chirpings enough to put me in a go-getter mood. There weren't any days I've wished to stay in bed after 9:00 in the morning, unless it was raining or cold that is. I was eager to wake up and smell the garlic aroma that overflowed density around the house; my nieces crawling up my bed along *Gringo pulling off my blanket until I'm abled to pat their tiny heads, I have yet to miss another day in the Province.

I did not yearn for anywhere else but there. Although my entire family have had its dose of world-wars and have gotten entirely broken up, I was pretty contented with the simple life my dad led for us. That place, along with my grandma's house have always been my comfort zone. When waves have kept me on shore, farthest than I can imagine, I was able to go back to these places, with the help of the waves itself. We are not perfect...even now, my family still has its little vices but being at a young age amidst the chaos between my dad and my unruly siblings, I attained warmth and fuzziness to the simple moments when we all are getting along, most especially in the kitchen. I'd like to think that our lives have been a drama series full of emotional encounters, but just like anything on television, with its own upbeat moments as well.

We have always been, and always are food people. My oldest sister and I used to go over board on our food budget every week. Regardless how much money we had then, we enjoyed Sunday afternoons around the wet market in our town, wisely arguing prices with the vendors and ignoring them if they wouldn't budge in. There weren't any breakfast, lunch or dinner without tasty meals set before us in our dining table, as anyone in my family can cook a hearty food, aromatic and conversation starters. While most of our neighbors indulged themselves on cars or fancy clothes, we, however, evolved into in each-and-our-own epicures: my grandma at her best with igado, my dad's bulalo, my sister's filipino-stlye spaghetti, my brother's kilawin, my uncle Carlos' dinuguan...my criticism towards their meal, is it good, bad, and above anything else, my day-to-day "starvation"--my stomach screaming "I want more!"

It was more than the food, however. It was about how spending in the kitchen prepping for these meals have kept my family in harmony whether it be for only 2 or 3 hours. As i see it now, there is really something bewitching with food and the way my family get along better, shut us down, and have helped us understand each other more (with home-cooking). It binds us better than the familiar love that most family share. Is it then sad that we had rely our relationship on the pungent sense a meal can bestow?

*Gringo: pet-dog. Although probably dead by now.
Italicize words: filipino food that involves pork/beef, fat, and many hmmmm hmmm hmmm's.

Labels: awkward, memorial family, of food, say cheesey

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