at times like this, cooking becomes a joy. almost therapeutic. especially when you have your own private kitchen in an apartment for two. because of this i’m having second thoughts on wanting to stay in hall for the rest of my uni years. it also makes me feel like a child, when i used to play masak-masak, except that my toys have grown bigger and better.
i cooked my very own chinese/asian/penang dinner last night, the kitchen was in a mess and i was in a mess, but when i finally set the dishes down and took a mouthful, i felt a big lump rising up my throat. the magic of cooking and food is almost unbelievable, because i felt like i was at home. just that i was alone here 13 hours apart. but yes it tasted like home.
i enjoyed every bit of it. from the clumsiness to the yelling and joking over skype to washing. it was magical :)