For most of my childhood, cooking was something I barely noticed. Meals simply appeared at the table, lovingly prepared by my mom or grandma. I never thought much about the effort behind those dishes or the importance of knowing how to cook myself, for me, it was cumbersome and need I tell you how much I hated the kitchen space? I always grumbled whenever mum tried to show me, therefore I usually end up not remembering anything she said because my mind wasn't there, just did it to avoid getting her angry at me. I love food but I didn't like doing the work. But all of that changed when I moved out of my mum's house in my first year in the university and lived alone. Suddenly, the simple act of feeding myself became a challenge. I always pleaded with my roomie to cook while I offered to do small chores like wash plates, fetch water, pound pepper etc until she travelled to her hometown for a month and that’s when I truly learned to cook because I almost passed out from hunger.
I started learning to cook out of necessity. At first, I survived on takeout, frozen meals, and anything quick and easy. But I quickly realized that relying on others or processed food wasn’t healthy or sustainable. There was something missing, I know some people might say connection but to me it was satisfaction. There's this feeling you get when you make something really nice and delicious and people ask for second helpings, yoooo, that feeling is very satisfying. I wanted to be able to make meals for myself, not just for survival but for comfort and satisfaction. So, I took my first step into the kitchen.
The beginning was horrible but I'll like to say humbling 😁😁. I could barely fry an egg without burning it. I overcooked meat, over-seasoned dishes, and occasionally made my mum and my friends choke on smoke. I didn’t know much about ingredients, measurements, or timing. But I was determined. I turned to YouTube tutorials, followed simple recipes, and asked my mom and friends endless questions 
A pot of vegetable soup I prepared myself and guys it's delicious🥰🥰🥰.
What surprised me was how cooking quickly became more than just a chore. It turned into a form of therapy. The rhythm of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and tasting flavors was calming. I found peace in the kitchen, a space where I could focus on something tangible and creative rather than worrying about everything else going on in life.
Through cooking, I also learned patience. Unlike instant meals, homemade dishes take time and attention. I discovered that rushing led to mistakes, but being patient and attentive could transform simple ingredients into something delicious. This lesson extended beyond cooking
teaching me to slow down and appreciate the process in other parts of my life.
Another important lesson I learned was about self-care. Cooking for myself was a way to show love and respect for my body. I began to understand the impact of food on my energy and mood. Preparing meals became a daily act of kindness toward myself, something I had overlooked before.
Most importantly, cooking taught me independence and confidence. Knowing I could make a meal whenever I wanted, without relying on anyone else, felt empowering. It gave me a sense of control in a world that often feels unpredictable. I started experimenting with flavors and recipes, and the kitchen became a place where I could express myself.
Learning to cook wasn’t just about food; it was about growth, patience, and self-love. What began as a skill born out of necessity became a lifelong passion and a vital part of who I am. Cooking connected me to my past, grounded me in the present, and gave me hope for the future. It’s a reminder that sometimes the skills we learn out of need end up teaching us the most about life and ourselves.