The morning sun rose once again shinning bright in my room. I woke up and almost instantly my nose was overwhelmed by a savory aroma of warm pancakes, scramble eggs, French fries, and biscuits. With so much haste, I quickly ran as fast as I could to the kitchen and my mouth began to water at the sight of all the food on the table. My mom has done it again cooking up a delicious meal and I commenced to appreciate my mother teaching me how to cook. My mom has been teaching me how to cook at a young age with each step of the journey I realized it is not easy. Cooking is all about trial and error but it is the best feeling in the world when everyone sit down and enjoys something that you work hard to make. I am thankful for everything my mother has taught me and she is my inspiration to continue cooking throughout my life.

Ever since I was little I had a close friendship with my mother. She has always been there for me when life was a roller coaster ride. Making sure we had food on the table, clothes to wear, and most importantly a roof above our heads. Cooking meals together brought us closer and also a learning experience for the both of us. From a young age my mom made it clear that learning how to cook is an essential in life. When my mother was younger, she refused to learn how to cook because she believed cooking was a waste of her time and would have someone else cook for her. My mother finally realized how important knowing how to cook was when she decided to have kids. Being able to provide healthy meals for her kids was the number one goal she has as a mother. Like magic a Bolivian mother from a small poor country located in South America, came to the United States with little to no knowledge of cooking became the most fantastic chef in the world.

Ten years later from the age of five, with all the knowledge I gained from my mother’s guidance I felt ready to take on a challenge of cooking by myself. Friday’s moon rose sending tired families to sleep however I was wide awake anguishing for my greatest challenge. My tired eyes became heavy and slowly I drifted into a deep sleep. At 7:30am my alarm sang and I was in sloth mode getting out of bed to turn off the alarm. As much as I was excited for this day, I really enjoy having my beauty sleep and every inch of my body and soul wanted to let the bed’s invisible hands pull me back under the blankets. My mother and I got ready, ate a country breakfast and then went to Costco to gather ingredients to make my spaghetti for dinner along with other groceries needed. Time ticking at five in the evening, I gather my ingredient on the counter, put my pots and pans on the stove, and I was ready to take on the challenge. Did my fifteen year old self know that Saturday evening would be ending in total destruction?

At the age fifteen, learning to make spaghetti for the first time alone was a challenge for me. Throughout the whole process I had absolutely no recollection of what I was trying to accomplish. At one moment I was boiling water in a huge container for the spaghetti and the next moment I saw smoke rising from the meat and sauce pan. “Mommy! Daddy!” I screamed out, “Help! The pan is on fire!” The evening turned into a tragedy, my mother turned into a cheetah getting to the fire extinguisher while the earsplitting fire alarm was set off. My father and brother came rushing into the kitchen to help put out the fire. By miracle I managed to not burn down the house into ash. It was total cooking disaster, the smell of smoke roamed around motionless panic- stricken faces. With overcooked spaghetti, burnt meat, and a starving family we all simultaneously said, “Let’s go eat In – N – Out.” We found a table and settle down to enjoy our burgers in silence.

The next morning, I remember thinking my parents are going to give me a long stern lecture about the mess I made yesterday evening. I was so afraid that they were going to punish me and never allow me to cook alone again. To my great surprise the harsh lecture I created in my head never happened and instead our morning was just like any other morning. Gathering in the kitchen for the traditional family morning hugs and settle down for breakfast. The most important lesson I learned that day is that everyone makes mistakes and learning from those mistakes is part of the process.

My mother reminds me to not be discouraged and to become a professional cook is not going to happen overnight. I felt inspired to continue learning how to cook after hearing my mother’s encouraging words. She refused to give up on me introducing new techniques to make the perfect spaghetti. With dedication and determination, I finally made the perfect spaghetti without burning the house down by myself on a Sunday afternoon for lunch. Joy filled my soul as I presented the spaghetti to my parents and brother. Watching them enjoy the spaghetti I created was the most joyful feeling I have ever felt. Ever since that moment cooking has become my favorite part of the day.

An unknown author from India once said, “The greatest motivator and inspiration on earth is –Our Mother (” I will always and forever be thankful to have my mother there for me every step of the way. It has been a long journey since that Saturday evening when I almost burned down the house to ash; now at the age of eighteen I learned countless recipes from my mother while she also learned new recipes I taught her. With my mother by my side I am anxious to learn other cooking lessons the future has in store for me, using my past experience to inspire me to not give up.