Three weeks ago, I finally had a chance to go back to my hometown. It was our first time going back after 3 years and our first, being back as husband and wife. I’ve always imagined what it would feel like. Would I cry? Would I be overwhelmed? Would everything change?

It turns out that the speed that time moved at was a lot faster than the time we feel has passed because when I stepped into the airplane, it felt normal and routine. It almost felt not too long ago that I travelled back home. My eyes did well up a bit but only for a moment.

Two hours before landing, the air stewardess came to our seats and asked if we wanted “Malaysia’s Breakfast” for our in-flight meal. I felt a bit cringed hearing the name of the meal but of course I opted for it. Let’s see what is this Malaysia’s breakfast all about. It was amaz…appointing. It wasn’t quite nasi lemak as it was more butter chicken and rice with a sad egg. It’s not Air Asia’s Pak Nasser Nasi Lemak I can tell you that. But anyways, the important thing was the flight was relatively smooth and we arrived safely.

We did get our proper Malaysia breakfast at KL Sentral prior to taking the train back to my parents’ place. The meal consisted of kopi, half-boiled eggs, kaya toast and nasi lemak. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Upon arriving at my hometown, one of the first things my dad asked me was, “What do I want to eat?” I told him maybe we can go back, put our baggage down and freshen up first. I don’t know what happened but we ended up at my favourite wanton mee place shortly after saying that! I used to come here as a kid, and every time I come I would order three bowls. Okay, first of all, let me stop you right there from thinking that I am a pig. One bowl is really small. My wife who usually eats only 1 spoon of rice for carbs can vouch for me and even she thinks it’s small.

I managed to say hi to the uncle who sells the noodles. He’s gotten a lot more grey hair since I last saw him and was limping a lot more. It was still comforting to see a familiar face, one that I have known for over twenty years. He doesn’t know me personally and vice versa. But I know he sells good food and he knows I treasure it. He was quick to inform me that they don’t open on Mondays and Tuesdays. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was not staying for long and that it would be a long while before I see him again.

After that we went home and it turned out that my mum had already made beancurd sheet soup and red bean soup for us. I suspected she stayed up all night to cook them so that we can have them the moment we come back. I also found out that she pre-ordered some mini chicken pies for us too. So what’s next on the adventure? You guessed it. More food.

Beef ball noodles by an 80 year old lady (who I believe have done this for over 50 years!). Coffee and kaya puffs. Hotpot with pork intestine soup. I also did attend mass in between the coffee and hotpot and y’all know that mass is technically a feast (Don’t worry, I fasted for an hour before mass in case you were wondering). After all of that, my parents asked us if we wanted to have ice cream and waffles at this new place. I replied, “Uhh, uhh, maybe we can do that another day?”

Anyways, the food journey was more or less like that over the week. It continued at my wife’s hometown too. My father-in-law already had a plan of where to take us to eat for breakfast every day and what to buy for us. One day, he travelled for an hour to get roasted pork and otak-otak back for us. Another day, he waited for half an hour to buy some very delicious fried bee hoon. On the day I was about to leave my wife’s hometown, I recalled still needing to eat a box of frozen durian, papayas and dragon fruits, all of which were provided by my father-in-law. I woke up at 7:00 in the morning and going “Okay, I need to eat finish this papaya which my father-in-law has prepared for me. I can do this. It’s go time Augie.” I took a spoon and was going to dig in. My wife is like, “Just eat half. What are you doing? Are you really going to eat the whole thing?”

Oh, he also made red bean soup with barley for us as well.

So, that’s my food diary. A lot of the usual stores were still around. Of course, some had to go due to Covid. Some got taken over by their children. After not being back for so long, I just thought that things would have changed drastically. It didn’t but hawker centers were now taking e-pay though. Everywhere you go, there’s QR codes that you can scan to pay through your phone. There were a lot of fancy cafes that popped up too; the kind that purposefully exposes bricks in the wall for décor and not because they can’t afford to patch it up. Some serve the same food as hawker centers but in a nicer setting with better ambience. I guess it’s all part of the evolution process of the food industry.

My parents were very keen to take me to all these new places and cafes to eat. I was less inclined to try them as I always think of my hometown as the place to visit the old favourites, while they are still there, you know? And to have that familiar taste, the very same from when I was a child. Sometimes, I think that’s the beauty of hawker food. It’s that one person who always does it. The food is forged from old recipes and daily routine. Twenty years later, the food taste the same as when I first had it and amazingly, you don’t get sick of it or bored of it. If you like to eat a particular dish, even when you’re 80 years old, I think you would still look forward to it. Sometimes, people wish they can watch a great movie for the first time again, to relive that initial experience of emotion, enjoyment and growth. With food especially simple and flavourful dishes, it’s the first time every time. With mum’s food, that’s just magic that you can never figure out how the trick is done.

Initially, I struggled to understand why my parents want to take me to new places to try or wanted to get all of these food. Surely they know I eat less now and trying to stay a little healthier. But I realised that this was their way of saying ‘I love you’.

As I grow older and now married, I am becoming more and more independent. As

children, we used to rely on our parents all the time, for them to take us to trips, to buy us toys, to take us to eat food, to watch movies and persuade them to spend time with us. Now that we become adults and and our parents grow older, they become proud of us for being able to do all these things that we were unable to. They become happy for our success, achievements and milestones. But maybe they think, ‘What can I give to my children now that they have everything?’

One of the things that they feel they can still give to us is food. It’s somehow a timeless language that keeps going. Taking us to a new restaurant is like a little trip, a mini holiday. Eating over hotpot allows for more time spent together. Seeing us enjoy what we eat is them providing happiness to us. There’s excitement with trying new food or new places. As famous or rich or successful we become, we will never say no to a good plate of nasi lemak. Food brings us back to our roots, to our childhood.

Some of my favourite memories in this trip was hearing my father-in-law talk about the food he enjoys. I don’t really speak Mandarin but hearing him talking about it made me smile. And he always ask me, ‘Is the food delicious?’ to which I always respond, ‘Yes’. And even if we don’t talk much to each other, that simple exchange spoke volumes to me.

I have to say this trip flew by. Time as always moves forward and faster than we can imagine. I looked at the hawker stores I went to and sometimes think this may be the very last time I have their food. When will be the next time I can have mum’s food? When is the next new place my parents are bringing me to? I shudder to think of the day all these things are gone.

The power of food is that it is entrenched in our memories. I’ll remember how my mum did it and cook the same things for my children (God willing). My wife and I will bring our kids to all these places we use to go to and new ones too. Maybe it will be the children of the owners that are doing it now and carrying the legacy of the parents.

Some way and somehow, that familiar first taste will be in some other iteration at another place. It will remain. Maybe not in the way we know but it will be there. Love perseveres.

And one day, I’ll remember to ask my kids,

‘What do you want to eat?’

‘Nasi lemak!’

‘Okay! Here you go.’

‘Yay. Let’s eat’

‘Does it taste good?’

‘Yes.’