When Food Becomes A Language

A language that was never spoken but instead symbolised through a bowl of peeled oranges that tasted like a hint of garlic and onions that was left on the same knife that my mother used to make dinner. 

It is often evident in Asian culture that terms of endearment such as “I love you” are never to be spoken aloud, or affection like “I missed you” would never be echoed throughout the upbringing of a child. Even pride – a phrase as simple as "I'm proud of you" would almost feel like holding in a crunchy cough whilst the class is dead silent. This would usually be represented in much quieter ways: ways that may seem stubborn to some, ways that can't grasp the emotional impact of words. Yet somehow, it is enough.

Apologies never really come through words, but through the peeled skin of an apple; the intricate lines show much more. It shows the time and effort that a parent has spent on their child, whether it is leaving a bowl of leftovers when you come home late or a glass of milk on the table the night before an exam. Even so, there are certain tweaks to these things. From my personal experience, I like my mango cut into small bite-sized pieces, whereas, in contrast to this, my younger brother likes it cut into long rectangular pieces. Putting aside the nuisance of cutting when the easier method would be to just cut it all the same way, my mother cuts it to our desired preference.

To me, this is more than just small bite-sized pieces that would be easier to swallow; it is a silent message of knowledge and caution. This is not just a habit; it carries meaning, and it holds a ritual which becomes an obligation. The obligation to never say "I'm sorry" but to present it in a bowl of freshly cut-up fruit. 

In families where emotional vulnerability is not dominant, food is not just a substance for nutrition and consumption. It is the powerhouse for every single one of the complex, deep and indescribable feelings that are felt for their child: gratitude, protectiveness, hope and pride. It is a primary way of expressing care – even something that is so mundane is fundamental for the relationship between a parent and child.

It is a language not everybody can understand, often containing hard vocabulary that requires exquisite cutting skills or extended sentence structures that need the intention of responsibility in mind. Even a polyglot cannot always grasp the concept of sustenance being such a powerful message.

The unspoken language runs deep – tender, ordinary, and easily overlooked by those who are unfamiliar. But for those who have grown up with it, fruit is not just fruit. It is memory; it is understanding; it is an apology carefully arranged on the plate that screams, 'I love you,' in a way that has never been quieter.