Whenever I return home, I’m always impressed at what concoctions my dad has dreamt up for dinner (yep, he’s the chef in the family). They may be simple, or healthy or even quick, but they are always tasty. He told me he taught himself in college when he came to the United States to continue his education. Now, I’ve been cooking since I’ve been in college in my apartment, but I also have been fortunate enough to have what I like to call a “cooking mate”. For the last few years we have made dinner together, fumbling through recipes (that never turn out quite like the picture), grocery shopping (and sometimes fudging by buying a pre-made dinner), and baking (this I can actually pull off sometimes).

Unfortunately my cooking mate is leaving, which means next school year, my last one (for this degree at least), I will have to cook by myself. Flying solo on such a simple thing isn’t bad, and I’m not complaining. But as I’ve been making house by myself for the last week (hey, remember that risotto?) and when you start living differently than you have for the last few years, every small change affects you. There’s no one helping you peel the carrots, or no one to wash the dishes when you’re tired, no one to chatter with at the store, and no one to share the hard work with.

But as Rose wrote in a beautiful post, this is not about goodbye. This is just about change and even hello. Maybe we will learn to cook with others, maybe we won’t. Maybe I’ll actually know how to use spices, or maybe I’ll find that bubble tea kit. Maybe I’ll become a great chef, or maybe I’ll master the takeout menu. It doesn’t matter because I know the next time I see my cooking mate, we won’t be sad. We’ll cook. Again and again and again.