A Flower's Nudity

7

"Head Napa cabbage, kosher salt, ground pork, scallions, cilantro, soy sauce, fresh ginger, eggs, package round dumpling, wonton, or gyoza wrappers."

"Those are?"

My mom faced me and smilingly replied, "The main ingredients of your father's favorite pork dumpling."

"Oww . . . kay?" I reacted stupidly, still trying to process what my mom wants me to do. "You're not gonna make me cook, are you?"

She didn't reply. Itinuloy niya ang paghiwa ng kung anu-anong ingredients. Halatang gamay na niya ang paggawa ng mga ito.

"I let the maids do all the works except the kitchen. This is my place."

I gave a nod. It's true, kitchen is one of my mother's kingdom. One of her dreams is to build a restaurant, but my father happened so . . .

"Is this the reason why you summoned me here? Mom, you know kitchen is not my thing."

Hindi ako pinansin ni mommy. Instead, she ordered me to do something. "Get the wrappers in the container."

"Mommy!" I complained.

Pinanlakihan niya lang ako ng mata. "Do it."

I didn't have a choice but to oblige. Kung gaano ako katigas, mas matigas pa si mommy. I can beat anyone around me except her.

I took the dumpling wrappers from the container and placed it above the sink.

"Anything else?" nababagot kong tanong. Again, she didn't reply.

"Pork belly, cloves garlic, soy, pineapple juice, brown sugar, pepper corn—"

"Mommy, busy ako. What the hell are you saying?" I wasn't able to stop and cut her off. "Never in my life that I cared about soy and pepper, or any kitchen stuff." Kating-kati nang umikot ang mata ko pero ayaw na ayaw ni mommy na iniirapan siya.

The sight of kitchen is driving me crazy, the smell makes me insane. The utensils that I don't even know what to call, the little fire coming from the high-tech stove, the thick bloody raw meat on the basin, the garlic skin on the sink. Very undesirable.

"Why are you in a rush? You don't have important things to do, anyway."

I raised my candle-shaped fingers in front of her so she could see my unfinished nail polish.

"I just mentioned the ingredients of a sweet meat recipé. Your father loves it," aniya, hindi pinansin ang kamay kong nasa ere.

Kumibot ang labi ko at 'di ko na talaga napigilan ang pag-irap. Buti na lang at hindi siya nakatingin.

"Doesn't everybody?"

"Ohhh, no, no." Umiling-iling siya. "I prefer adobo. But most men love sweet meat."

"Like I care." I smiled, a faint humor is all over my face.

Tiningnan ako ni mommy sa paraang dapat kong pagsisihan ang sinabi ko.

"Hid, you forgot what they say? The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

I hated kitchen. Never did I visualize myself holding a kitchen knife as I slice a pork's meat into pieces. Never did I imagine that someday I find myself peeling a potato. I never thought that this day would come and I see myself preparing that certain recipé—sweet meat it is.

Holy Mary. If my memory is not tricking me, my mom didn't mention about potato. Tanga, nagtatalop ako ng patatas pero hindi naman pala kailangan.