Bon appétit, Dad!

Even the smallest gesture can live for a lifetime.

I can’t lie, every time I’m busy in the kitchen that’s just my way of reminiscing my memory of your figure. Especially when I cook for your only daughter, it reminds me of how you used to do the same thing every time you were around. That’s why I did the same thing every time I have the chance, so I hope she can have the same experiences as I used to. You are the best cook among us, even Mom can’t compete, remember?

You are the one that always passionate about food, and you always seemed most happy when you cook. I didn’t understand back then why you bother yourself in the kitchen, but now I realize, maybe because cooking was your love language for us and it’s not something that easily bought in any restaurant, not even the fancy one. Maybe their food tasted delicious but still, it’s not yours. Yours is different, it’s candid and sincere.

I try to learn as much as I can through every moment that I have had with you. No matter what the moment was; good or bad, happy or sad, I will always cherish every single of it. Because somehow, I believe that even after somebody dies, you can still keep learning from them. You know, their life. It keeps unfolding itself to you just as long you pay attention to it.

Thank you for teaching me that even the smallest gesture can live for a lifetime.

We miss you, Dad. Bon appétit!

*this memoir was written to celebrate his 54th birthday at June, 28th, which is when this story published.