Breakfast

Someone commented not too long ago that food had the power to lift my spirits. I was surprised how well she knew me — I had no idea until she pointed it out — but she's right.

It is not food per se, not how good it tastes even, but the ritual of eating that gives me comfort. It is the zen -like notion that when all is said and done, after all the achievements, heartaches and grief, everybody needs to stop and eat so that they can carry on. "After you eat, wash your bowl," the Zen Buddhists say. Life is as simple as doing what you need to do to keep going.

Sharing a meal is an intimate thing for me. The native Americans had the tradition of showing their ultimate acceptance and inclusion of guests into their society: they ate them. I don't get that intimate. I met an old friend yesterday evening for a late dinner at Whampoa Hawker Centre and we went about ordering food the way we used to when we used to hang out every weekend — Hokkien mee, Oyster Egg and Sugarcane. It felt familiar: him heaping the prawns and sotong (squid) onto my plate because he's allergic to seafood. Lucky for my cholesterol levels, I don't meet him for Hokkien mee and Oyster egg that often!

Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and maybe a snack in between. The nursing homes got it right — a snack of tau huay (curdled soy bean desert) and a snack of milo and biscuits in the afternoon. I love the word "snack". Right now, my appetite has shrunk so I can barely stomach a full meal, but still, the idea of three meals will keep me sane.