I used to really hate cooking. Not just because it felt boring or time-consuming, but because of what it represented in my childhood home. Growing up in a South Asian family, cooking was just expected of women. It wasn’t a fun, creative task—it was a chore. A gendered responsibility. And I couldn’t ignore how rarely the men in my family cooked, cleaned, or did much at all, really, because the women were there to “take care of it.”
So for a long time, I avoided the kitchen altogether. I didn’t want to learn how to cook. I didn’t want to be that kind of woman.
But over time—especially as I moved away from home and started living on my own—things started to shift. I still don’t love cooking, and I don’t do it every day. But I’ve come to see it less as a symbol of patriarchy, and more as a life skill.
More than that, it’s become something that makes me feel grounded. When I make myself a meal now, it’s usually simple and straightforward, but it feels like I’m taking care of myself. Making dinner has become a small act of agency—something I do just for me.
Cooking also makes me feel in my body. I know that sounds vague, but it’s true. I’m chopping, tasting, stirring, paying attention. I don’t feel like I’m disappearing into someone else’s expectations. I feel present. And when the food I make is fresh and nourishing, I feel better overall—mentally, physically, emotionally.
I also think a lot about love when I cook. Specifically, how I want to be loved. Food has always been a love language in my life, and I hope that whoever I end up with sees it that way too. I don’t want a one-sided dynamic. I want someone who wants to feed me real food, who makes me feel cared for and nourished. That’s how I feel most loved.
Cooking didn’t suddenly become my favorite hobby or anything like that. But it stopped being a trigger. It stopped being this thing I resented.
Now, I see it as something I do on my own terms. And that alone feels like a win.