I Cried Over a Soup
When I left my hometown to study in the city, I left with the conviction that I would achieve my dreams far better than my peers. I accept nothing but perfection, and I aim high, thinking I am above my heights. So, my eyes are set on grind culture and competition.
I never thought I would get lonely because I am more comfortable dealing with things on my own. So I left, looking forward to restarting my life without looking back. But little did I know that loneliness changed everything, and I found that loneliness over a sour soup.
It was exam week, and my work deadlines overlapped with school submissions. I had no one else to turn to because my peers were dealing with their own problems. That day, I hit a point where I questioned if my dreams were ever worth it. I had to fight tooth and nail every day, and I needed to compete over my work and classmates so I would rightfully get recognition for my work and education opportunities.
But I could not hold on any longer. My professor questioned my ability to provide a good output during the whole class; my client scrapped the whole blueprint I submitted and asked for another with a 24-hour deadline; my siblings were out that day as they had work seminars; and I was left with my wallowing pity as the worst human alive.
Are my efforts even worth it? Am I really deserving to become a lawyer?
Deep thoughts ran over my head until I found myself at the usual carinderia where I ate lunch. The aunt there was kind enough to serve me Sinigang. Sinigang is a sour and savory soup filled with native vegetables and boiled pork in the Philippines. It was my favorite food because my mother would always cook it for me whenever I came home.
While I took a soft sip of the soup, the sour, tangy taste filled my tastebuds and swelled my eyes. I began crying and tears fell in the soup as if it was a flavoring ingredient that filled it with my bitter day.
I uttered, “I miss my mom.”
The warmth of her cooking was enough to dissolve my loneliness. Her traditional way of chopping vegetables, grinding tamarind to unleash its taste, and an occasional call to taste whether it was suitable enough for my taste buds. I miss these little moments where I watched over her in the kitchen, waiting for her to tell me if lunch was ready.
I realized that all of my being is nothing without my mother. Even if there were times I didn’t agree with her, she never asked for anything beyond my needs or ability. I always forget her presence whenever a bad day tries to ruin me.
Now that I am alone with my thoughts, 300 kilometers away from her, I realize that I am so narrowed in my life. I wanted to run away from my hometown because I am too ambitious to live a simple life.
Yet, my mother’s cooking softened my greedy self and taught me how a small bowl of soup is a comfort in my sorrow.
