Memories from the Past: Kitchen and Rice Stories

I grew up in a family where struggle was a constant companion, but looking back, it’s easy to see the humour in the chaos and the resilience that came with it. My parents came from different walks of life. My mother was from a middle-class family with a small business and a few properties, and my father… well, he was more acquainted with humble beginnings. In fact, his family rented a flat from my mom’s parents – that’s where they met. My dad loved to joke that my mom got star-struck by his good looks and then he’d add with a grin, ‘And I thought she had rosy cheeks… turns out, it was just pimples!’ It was his favourite line, and my mom would always laugh, rolling her eyes at his cheeky teasing. Their love story was like that – full of jest and genuine affection.

When they decided to run away, you can imagine the drama. My mother’s family wasn’t too thrilled. In fact, she was cast out for a while. They moved from place to place until they eventually settled back in my mom’s hometown, living in one of her family’s seaside flats. When I say seaside, I mean it literally – our house was right by the sea, practically floating with every typhoon that blew through the Philippines.

Now, this wasn’t your ordinary sturdy home. Nope, ours was pieced together with wood and coconut trees, each part replaced regularly thanks to the twice-a-year strong typhoons that liked to redecorate. Imagine this: every time a storm hit, half of our house (mostly the kitchen) would get swept away by the waves, and we’d have to build a new one. So, I grew up with a “fresh kitchen” about every year! It was just part of life, and we never thought much of it.

I didn’t realise how amusing this was until I shared the story with people here in Europe, where kitchens are something of a prized possession. When I mention that we had a new kitchen multiple times a year (not by choice), they look at me like I’m talking about some luxury renovation project. It’s only when I see their jaws drop that I remember – yeah, kitchens here cost an arm and a leg!

Growing up, we never had more than we needed, but it wasn’t something I thought about much as a child. My parents worked hard. My mom did laundry for people, and my dad took odd electrical jobs when he could find them. We often ate rice and salt for meals – my dad had this proud philosophy that as long as the rice was the finest, it was already a feast. And let me tell you, I can never forget the taste of the cheaper rice when we couldn’t afford the good stuff. It’s funny because these days, the unrefined, “cheap” rice is considered healthier and more expensive. The tables have truly turned – now people are paying a premium for what we once ate out of necessity!

But it wasn’t all rice and salt. My mom made sure of that. She would plant vegetables and fruits during the summer to fill our plates with something more, and my dad would wait by the shore for the fishermen’s boats to come in, helping them unload so we could have a few fish. It wasn’t a life of abundance, but it was a life of contentment.

I never thought of ourselves as poor, not until much later when I started to understand the world outside our little bubble. Even then, I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything. Fast forward to today, I often tell my son to be grateful for the simple things we have. We may not be wealthy, but we have enough, and I think that’s what matters most – finding contentment in what you have, even if it’s not what others might consider enough.

So, here’s to a childhood filled with typhoon-proof kitchens, rice that told stories, and parents who made the best out of every challenge. It’s funny how the things that once seemed ordinary or even hard have become my life’s most amusing and cherished memories.