23/08/2025
ππ¨π«π ππ‘ππ§ ππ§π π«πππ’ππ§ππ¬: πππππ²βπ¬ ππ¨π―π π’π§ π ππ’π¬π π
This grocery list, written by my father on August 21, 2020, is more than just a list. It is a memory, a symbol of love, and a piece of a tradition that made every birthday in our family feel magical.
As you can see, it is for pancit and biko, two of his specialties, along with his unforgettable spaghetti. My Tatay loved cooking for us on our birthdays. He would always take time off, not just to prepare food for the family, but for the entire neighborhood. I am not exaggerating when I say the food reached as far as the next street. Even our neighbors would ask him to cook for their own occasions because they just could not get enough.
It has been more than two years now. More birthdays have passed without his pancit and biko. Those dishes are not just food to me. They are core memories I will forever carry. They live on in my heart and memory.
Last August 2023, while he was confined and fighting for his life, he told me, βAte, babawi ako. Pag gumaling ako, paglulutuan kita.β
He was still full of hope. But he passed away that same year, on December 15.
The last time he actually cooked for me was in 2021, or maybe 2022. He had already begun to get sick by then. Things slowly changed.
Now, I find myself longing for that comforting feeling of coming home to his cooking, knowing he had prepared something just for me. The warmth of being celebrated through food made with love. I will miss his spaghetti, biko, and pancit for the rest of my life.
Tay, I love you. Thank you for always making me feel special on my birthdays. Your love will always be the best ingredient in every memory.