submitted anonymously

I remember the chilly winter winds biting at my fingers and a window that may as well have made our kitchen open-air. You could usually find us warming ourselves up by the stove or scraping our spoons against plastic IKEA bowls. I remember watching mum cook and my dad shrug at customers when they ordered the fried rice.

When the shutter was down and the stove went cold, we all knew a pocket of air was warming upstairs. Granted, it wasn't stitched together very well: leaky ceilings, gaps around the windows, cold walls, cold floor, cold hands. I remember preparing a table for six—six spoons and six forks—and, yes, we always ate with a spoon and fork.

When you eat with us… Don't just eat the egg fried rice; eat the good stuff! The plain white jasmine rice—the one that fills the room with steam and gathers everyone around the table. Don't just eat the curry sauce. Eat the good stuff! The tender cubes of beef and lemongrass and galangal. The one that you would pour over everything you could possibly think of. And, of course, don't just eat your vegetables; eat the good stuff! The bitter dandelion leaves sweetened in coconut milk and chilli. The one that makes your throat tingle with mellow notes of laughter.

I remember walking into our dining room, warmed by food and family, and feeling the joy in that room bubble over.