I used to think cooking was stressful. Intimidating, even. Before I got married, I didn’t know how to cook—like, at all. Not even a basic fried egg. The kitchen felt like a place where mistakes were expensive and disappointment was inevitable. I was terrified of messing up our meals, of serving something inedible, of failing at something that felt so fundamental.

But somewhere between newlywed nerves and everyday necessity, I learned.

At first, I relied heavily on reels, short videos, and step-by-step tutorials online. I watched, paused, replayed, and tried again. Some dishes turned out better than expected, others… not so much. But in all fairness, every meal I cooked was edible. Some didn’t taste quite the way I imagined they would, but they were still meals we could sit down to, share, and finish together. Through all of it, my husband was there—encouraging, patient, and genuinely supportive. He never made me feel bad for my mistakes, and he celebrated every small win like it mattered.

Now, just a few months short of our fourth anniversary, I’ve cooked so much—far more than I ever imagined back when I was scared of burning eggs and ruining meals. What started as cautious attempts slowly turned into confidence, and eventually into something I genuinely look forward to.

One of my favorite parts of cooking now isn’t even the process—it’s what comes after. Every meal ends with him saying, “Thank you for the food.” Every single time. He’s appreciative in a way that feels sincere and grounding, and he’s vocal about it too—proud enough to tell his friends and family about the dishes I make. Knowing that something I created brings him joy makes my heart feel full in a quiet, steady way.

Lately, cooking has evolved from survival to creativity. I’ve been recreating our favorite restaurant dishes at home, and it’s been surprisingly fun—beef and pork Pepper Lunch, palabok, bacsilog, sisig, burgers, tonkatsu, gyudon, spam musubi, burritos, just to name a few. Dishes I once thought were “too complicated” are now part of our regular rotation. There’s something deeply satisfying about realizing you can make something yourself that you used to order outside.

I’ve even started marinating my own tocino and tapa so we don’t have to rely on processed ones from the grocery. It feels like reclaiming something—taking control of what we eat, slowing down, and being more intentional.

Somewhere along the way, cooking stopped being about fear and started becoming therapy.

The chopping, the marinating, the waiting—it forces me to be present. My hands are busy, my mind slows down, and the noise fades. Cooking has become a space where I can focus, create, and care all at once. It’s not about being perfect or impressive; it’s about nourishment—in every sense of the word.

I never thought I’d say this, but cooking is fun. It’s grounding. It’s comforting. And in ways I didn’t expect, it’s healing.

Turns out, the kitchen isn’t a place where I fail.

It’s a place where I’ve learned, grown, and found joy—one meal at a time. 🍳✨