For me, food is comfort. Not the type of comfort that a security blanket or a stuffed animal might provide; it’s the type of comfort that makes me feel at home. This is the comfort that a friend gives when things get bitter—and it’s best when it’s enjoyed with the people I love. But I’ve never been much comfortable admitting that.

I grew up with a family who loved food. My Mama always made delicious dishes at home–from Italian lasagna to Japanese chāhan. My Papa always wanted to try new places—from tiny hideaway stalls in Binondo to Michelin-starred restaurants in Hong Kong.

Of course, food takes up space in everyone’s lives, but I’ve always felt that it held a significantly larger presence in mine. After all, my entire family shares the same love for good food. My mom makes my favorite dandanmien when I’m stressed out; my dad gets me candy when I’m listless. We bonded over homemade meals and Chinese takeout because we genuinely enjoyed eating together.

In a way, I’ve been propelled through both the good and the bad times with food as my fuel. The crunch of honey butter chips while cramming heaps of homework. The bite of strawberry chocolate while committing modules to memory. Rewarding myself after hell week with my favorite froyo with an extra swirl of spiced cookie caramel. But the older I get, the more my tastes change. Academics and work become a melting pot of pressure. I just can’t savor things the same way again. Rather than shirk my responsibilities, I’d shy away from meals instead. I lost my zest—not just for food, but for life as well.

This hunger for more is an emptiness that can never be filled. I’ve been driven with my goals as a means of control, and I’m intimidated by the fear of being mediocre. I like maintaining a sense of perfection at all times—whether it’s constantly looking put together, or getting good grades. As I matured, it seemed juvenile to admit that I do binge on granola while watching K-dramas in my pink pajamas. I grew guilty of indulging when I could be doing something more important. Society teaches us that sustenance is king and gluttony a villain. I became conscious of how I looked beside others who pretended they didn’t like food or fun. I held myself back from eating not just as a means of control, but in the hopes that depriving myself of any enjoyment ensures success.

But living a life without relish has taken its toll on me. I faced myself in the mirror and realized that dark eyebags and bony wrists don’t necessarily make me a better person. My worth does not lie in numbers–be it grades, awards, or calorie counts. Working hard doesn’t always mean success, just like having fun doesn’t always mean failure.
So I’ll open myself up again. I’ll take my meals on time and take good care of myself day by day. Sometimes I just need to take a break from it all: Put on a pretty dress and sip on a Starbucks latte without feeling bad about the sugar, the resting, or about myself. While there is some comfort in food or numbers, there’s always more to be found in my self-worth.