19 Months Without My Amazing Mum

Mum, it is the simple pleasure of your homemade food

a treasure trove of flavours and memories

now seem like distant echoes of the past

Ma, there is a saying that goes, "you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory", but it was not until your unexpected departure 19 insufferable months ago, that I realised how damn true those words are, how damn significant of your sudden absence is, as I have not only been missing your loving presence, and of course, there has also been a pang of longing that grips my bleeding heart, the constant ache of missing something so deeply ingrained in our daily lives, something that was as comforting as it was delicious, it was your divine homemade food

Ma, it is often said that food is a love language, you spoke it fluently, in your awful physical absence, I have come to understand that the magic of your cooking lies in its irreplaceable nature, for the past 19 intolerable months, since your meals were not just sustenance to fill our tummies, but to nourish our spirits and bring us together as a family, it was not just the taste of your food, that made it so special, but it was the way you prepared it, each chop of the vegetables, each stir of the pot, and each dish was a labour of love, that seasoned with affection and crafted with warmth

Ma, since you slept in your sweet dreams, 19 unendurable months ago, not a single damn day goes by that I have not missed you and the delish meals you used to make, I have not tasted your food, the mere thought of it, brings a bloody lump to my throat, and tears to my eyes, the kitchen, once a joyous place of laughter, and a sanctuary where you poured your heart and soul into every creation, no matter what ingredients you used, a unique alchemy that happened when the secret ingredient was always your love and devotion to us all, and you mastered this art effortlessly

Ma, our kitchen, your kitchen, has not been the same since you were torn away from us so shockingly, 19 unbearable months ago, and now it bears a palpable void that no other chef can fill, it feels so empty and completely devoid of life, owing to the fact that it was a space reserved for the culinary wizardry that only you could conjure, try as we might, no one, can capture the essence of your homemade meals, a sprinkle of your radiance, a dash of your endearment, a pinch of your optimism, and a touch of your zestful spirit, just an impossible feat to ever duplicate your dishes  

Ma, one of the things I have been missing so badly in the past 19 overpowering months, is the routine of waking up to the aroma of freshly cooked lunch, when every morning I would begin with your typical chopping sound in the kitchen, each day, you would rise well before dawn, armed with pots and pans, to ensure those packed meals would sustain me through the day ahead at work, it was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that spoke volumes about your unwavering dedication, oh, how I miss those simple yet precious moments, that made each day a little bit more brighter

Ma, but it was not just the lunches, that I have been missing so damn hard, for the past 19 unutterable months, it was the dinners as well, every evening, without fail, you would whip up two different meals to cater to our diverse tastes, and the hearty dishes were tailored to our individual preferences, it was a luxury we took for granted, the luxury of coming home from work and finding the dining table adorned with your culinary masterpieces, and it was a moment of respite, that no matter how hectic our days may be, there was always supper waiting for us invitingly at home

Ma, as I navigate through the daily motions of life, 19 overwhelming months on, there is a persistent pain in my heart, a longing for an experience that can never be recreated, from the crack of dawn to the setting of the sun, the mere sight of you in your element, donning an apron and creating culinary wonders, was enough to brighten even the gloomiest days, I miss your voice calling me to the table, but most of all, I miss your food, the taste of love and the flavour of home, my darling Ma, the master chef of our souls, until we meet again in that greatest kitchen in the sky