More than anything else, I long to be back among people who make me feel like my food habits are normal. That when I tell an auntie (any auntie, even the ones I’m not related to), ‘I traveled 50 min and stood in line for 45 min for one bowl of noodles’, her response isn’t ’omg why?’ But rather ‘was it worth it?’
I want to visit my friends in KL, who promise that we will probably still go out for supper at 2 am when I visit, and that’s just a thing that normal people do. I want to be warm. I want to speak Malay and Cantonese and Hokkien at the same time.
I want to stand in line at my mom’s cousins’ Michelin Bib Gourmand winner wanton noodles shop, and see the jealous faces of people who think that I’ve ’cut queue’ when they feed us first.
I want to go to Mangalore and eat fish coated in semolina and fried and coated in the most amazing coconut masala.
I want to walk by the fried crickets lady at Soi Nana as I walk to some amazing sushi or yakitori or Italian restaurants spot at midnight in Bangkok.
I want to sit under a dirty tarp by the side of the road in Surabaya and eat an empal goreng with my oldest friend in the world as she tells me her boy problems that I’ll never understand.
I want to not feel like having food play an outsized role in my life is a strange thing, that it’s just perfectly normal and the right amounts in the places that I call home.
I want to go home again. Right now, I can’t.