Some aches don't scream – they whisper through old walls and the scent of your mother's cooking. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours – or at least, I wanted it to.

It was my first time holding a knife, chopping spices with no precision, thinking, 'They'll be blended anyway'. And there she was – not just teaching me how to slice ginger and red chilli, but to survive in the silence.

No need for noise, no need for names – some truths bloom quietly, and that is enough.

Her hands moved with calm certainty, and her eyes traced the blade not with fear but with care. It was precise, as if she were showing me how to face the world: firm, courageous, and never with fear.

The ornament still hung where they always had, dusty. The same corner we used to fill with laughter had grown quieter, smaller, like joy that had aged but never truly left. I still sat there sometimes – chopping vegetables, stirring onions, or simply staring out the back window as the wind slid dust across the ventilation. For the first time, I found myself okay with the dust settling there. The laughter hadn't disappeared, just grown quiet with age.

Luckily, I didn't walk away at 20 – even when it felt easier to. I hadn't fully grown out of home, not just yet. I still came back. Fyi, I still asked her how much coconut milk was "enough," still pretended I didn't know the answer, just to want to hear her say it.

Oh, the air smelled like lemongrass, turmeric, and something else! Truly, something only her touch could bring out of a dish, one of her specialties.

I'll forever come back, just for the warmth rising from a bowl. In the way she serves delicous coconut milk soup so aromatic and comforting; how the lontong soaks just enough curry; how the chicken is tender and an intense authentics flavor (it should be "ayam kampung" she said) – most importantly in the way love – at least the kind she gives me – doesn't always come with words.

At some point, I forgot the ache of growing up. That's all it took to bring me home again and again.

Love you so momih!♡

(jan sampe orangnya baca nanti kepala besar)