By Alexander Ma

Edited by Alloe Mak

My hugs are my mom’s food.

I’m a first-gen Canadian-Chinese guy. My parents immigrated here when they were young in order to pursue a better life. The political climate in China was difficult and the living situation was difficult. A fresh start for a fresh couple.

I grew up mainly eating my mom’s food: fried rice, steamed dumplings, and crispy duck we’d get from the butcher across the street. All of it passed down from mother, to daughter, to daughter. It was the only thing that kept me alive during my childhood; going home and smelling the sesame oil and MSG hitting me whenever I walked through that door.

Despite this, the moment I started growing up was when everything started to unravel. My native language started lessening to where I couldn’t speak to my grandma properly anymore, and I found myself no longer sitting by a shared hotpot, but instead, a pizza party.

I turned to Western food and grew disgusted with my own culture’s cuisine. I wanted to be someone who I wasn’t so bad. I should be born with lasagna, frozen food, whiter skin, and blond hair, because this was the norm, right? As much as I turned blame to others,

I was my own biggest erasure and I couldn’t admit it.

In my teenhood, I grew to indubitably regret it. My body was ageing, but my mind remained in the past where I wondered about what I should’ve done.

I should’ve continued to take Chinese class.

I should’ve continued to look at myself more in the mirror.

I should’ve peeled more tangerines.

I shouldn’t have pushed away my biggest and loving hugs.

My mom would tell me “I told you so” whenever I told her I regretted my choices, and I could never protest in return. She was right. She was so right, and it hurt me so deep down. It hurt even more that I couldn’t fix it.

My mom still gives me food with more love and hugs into them. What I worry about now, though, is missing them entirely. College comes soon, then grad school, then a career. The further apart I am from my mom, the more I’ll miss the chances I’ll get to receive those hugs. I’ll miss the egg drop soup and the pineapple buns. 

I wish I could restart time to when I was still receiving those hugs for the first time.