There Is Nothing Lonelier Than Cold Sinigang

my mother finally knocked. she said my food was downstairs in a brown paper bag beside the electric fan. i didn't want to eat anymore, but still. i had to, y'know? so i went down again and checked what i had to deal with. i felt like one of the clean up crew the morning after a war. disposing of the cold, lifeless bodies who sacrificed themselves so i could breathe another minute or two of my sorry little life. i knew my brain was exaggerating again, but i couldn't help being sad still.

i had this aunt. and she cooked the bestest of meals ever. it was by her art that i grew up and was nourished in. she was so good, that i would just tell her what i would like to eat (say, pork), and she would ask me how i would want it to taste like (say, spicy), and the next day i would be smelling it as real as the previous day's dream. she reminds me of nacha, from the book like water for chocolate.

and she knows a lot of important things too like what i prefer to eat, what i don't like near my tongue or my nose, and what i like at a particular day. she knows i like the meanest pork sinigang steeped in lots of sampaloc (or sometimes calamansi), and she knows i prefer eating it at lunchtime on weekends. she knows i like lots of sauce on my piniñahang manok/baboy and i like it very, very sweet. she knows i hate menudo and sarciadong baboy. she knows i don't like eating seafood. and she knows that i don't, for the life of me, get why people like eating bulalo or putting bones instead of meat on my sinigang. she knows a lot of things.

sometimes during breakfast, when i pull an all-nighter because of a project or i'm reviewing for finals, she would make me instant pancit canton. and sometimes when i'd like to take a break, i'd help her around the kitchen to whip up breakfast. we'd work quietly because she knows i don't like speaking in the mornings. she knows that much.

we had a lot in common too. we're both the eldest, we're both tall, we both have unpredictable tempers, and we both have the most expressive of laughs in the family.

i guess i don't have to point out that i miss her a lot. ever since she passed away around two years ago, we've been eating nothing but carinderia food or fast food. sometimes one of our aunts would cook, or sometimes my father would, but it doesn't taste the same. i would always end up thinking this food wasn't meant for me. like a shirt given to me but was actually for someone else. it doesn't fit at all.

i'm sure the other people here at home miss my aunt too. but i don't know. there's nothing lonelier than a cold sinigang sa buto-buto leftover.