I had't written(/published) in a couple months, making excuses over "time" as a blanket for the chill of just not quite feeling in it. Yesterday I felt ready.

My dad passed away early this March. Having made peace with him over lifelong bickerings this time last year, it was a little easier for me than it could've been. (Still, I had some amount of anger surrounding the healthcare system that failed him, but that's another topic for another time.) This week I'd reflected on memories with him quite a bit, inadvertently. One night I made kare kare, a Filipino peanut based stew dish, that was one of my favorites from his repertoire as the home chef that I never before realized had really helped to shape my own creativity. One night and again another morning, I homemade fries from scratch, something that I would always ask of him to make for me, not realizing then just how much care and work went into one seemingly simple snack. One afternoon my roommate shared apple pie with me, and the taste reminded me of how apple pies, whether storebought or homemade in quantity, were one of his regular simple pleasures. It's profound how food connects us, its details bringing back scenes that we'd not otherwise call upon. I also found myself wearing quite a bit of black, as if subconsciously finally facing his absence in this realm. One familiar food item after another, I shared with my roommate, "Not to sound weird, but it feels like he's here with us.” If I ask myself honestly, I know that he is.

I look forward to interweaving this feeling, this energy of peaceful reflection and gratitude, into all of the experiences my life yet has to offer and sharing them with others in ways that best pass on the sentiments.