My earliest memories are of long sunny days playing outside with the neighborhood kids, riding bikes down large hills, and coming home to steaming curries and rice.
Food is something that has remained an item of nostalgia for me, as the quick jab of a spice brings both tears to my eyes and a hissing noise from my mouth. I remember biting into something, realizing my mistake, and running around the house trying to get rid of the pain. I’d bite into bread, eat a spoon of sugar, or gulp a glass of water in an attempt to feel normal again.
While I’d run around, my parents would laugh at me, telling me I should have watched my food as I ate it instead of chatting and watching shows. I used to eat quickly, trying to finish my food so I could run back outside and continue my games. But the spices in my mother’s cooking unintentionally caused me to slow down to pay attention to the food in front of me.
The annoyances of my childhood self dissipated as I got older. Now a spicy soup feels like a hug instead of a nuisance. I view accidentally biting into a pepper as a reminder of when my biggest issues revolved around making it back to my neighbor’s playground in time for our next game.
I’ve learned to embrace the pain that comes with a spicy curry, because my mother’s reminder to slow down hits me even harder as I’m entering my final year as a high schooler. Because there once was a time when I wanted time to move as fast as possible, but now I’ll do anything I can to stop time itself.
Every meal feels like a countdown until my last meal as a kid, when college awaits me and the food I’ll eat will consist of meal passes with little to no flavor. The pain of spice is welcomed, as now it represents the pain of growing up. But I’m sure there will be a time where I look back at this moment with envy, so for now I’ll keep eating spice and cherishing every moment.