The Taste of Life

For some, food is just sustenance. To me, food is memories.

When I think of food, I think of eating savory roasted potatoes from the Whole Foods hot bar on Saturdays with my mom as a kid, not realizing she was making time for me even while juggling dental school with motherhood.

I think of summers in Korea, eating ice-cold cubes of watermelon that my aunts—whom I’ve only met three times—spent way too much money on, feeling grateful that they thought I was worth it.

I think of eating Jersey Mike’s the same night I got accepted into UNC-Chapel Hill, tasting the reward of all my sacrifices in high school.

I think of Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania with my childhood best friend, the smells from her kitchen wafting around as we played The Beatles edition of Rock Band.

I think of getting Bavarian cream donuts from Dunkin’ with my dad after he picked me up from middle school, cherishing the one-on-one time before he headed back to work.?

I think of weekend mornings in Chapel Hill’s local bagel shop with my first boyfriend, my first love, during my junior year, going to “our table” and planning the day ahead.

I think of bonding with my sophomore year suitemate as we ate dry dining hall chicken together every day, realizing how similar we were despite coming from such different backgrounds.

I think of eating sandwiches from Mendocino Farms with my fellow interns this past summer in San Francisco, laughing and swapping life stories on the third floor of my dream job’s building.

I think of my grandma teaching me how to properly fold dumpling skins in our kitchen, her life story spilling out in conversation as my hands, dusted in rice flour, sealed little spoonfuls of meat and vegetables into perfect pleats.

I think of the yogurt bowls I made while recovering from my eating disorder, feeling a quiet sense of pride the day I stopped caring about how many calories the granola had.

I think of the crunchy little Korean crackers my grandpa kept in the office of his dry cleaners. The taste still lingers in my mind whenever I see a picture of him, even years after he passed from cancer.

To me, food is love. Food is resilience. Food is comfort. Food is community.?

I think there’s something beautiful about being able to look at food and be reminded of the little interactions in my life, both the good and the bad.

Food has a way of holding our stories and turning fleeting moments into something that lasts. It carries the weight of love, loss, triumph, and togetherness. In every bite, I’m reminded of where I’ve been, who I’ve shared my life with, and how much I have to be grateful for.

To me, food is more than just sustenance. It’s a mirror of the life I’ve lived—and the connections that make it worth living.