When I was adopted at the age of six, the one thing my mom made sure I knew was how to cook. She wanted my sister and I to know how to so that if we were ever on our own we knew how to cook well. We didn’t start with grilled cheese or eggs like most rational, normal people; we began our housewife-like career with chicken marsala, beef goulash, and sautéed shrimp on a bed of couscous. When I was ten years old I wanted to own my own restaurant, at 12 I wanted to start a catering business, 15 a bakery and at 17 a food truck. By 18, the only cooking I wanted to do was for my family.
For the majority of my life, making food has been my ultimate passion. Making just one person happy by what I have created is one of the most affective-self-affirming things in life. Food has always been a dominating aspect of my life, food reminds me of family and of bonding around something that we all enjoy. My food life-story is one of figuring out what I want to do with my life, and how my talents will affect the roles I will take on.
Last June, me and my roommates had to start paying for our own groceries for the first time in our lives. Since then, we have phased in and out-depending on how broke we felt or other varying factors-of buying healthy or easy foods. Sometimes we plan meals at the beginning of the week, but some weeks we do not work enough or we have many projects and an abundance of homework, consequently resulting in not being able to afford to spend our time and money on being health conscious. Recently, we have started creating menus for the weeks and budgets for grocery shopping. We are slowly learning how to live on our own, successfully. Food became a stressor in my life, when or what I am going to eat is a thought that crosses my mind consistently throughout every day. It has become a sign of my impending and early onset adulthood, and it is scary, but I can handle it.