My Story

I’m a first-generation college student, and food—well, food has always carried meaning beyond the plate. Back in undergrad, it was my Latin American studies professors who showed up for us. They would buy us food, even groceries sometimes. There wasn’t a designated space to go to, no formal safety net—but they stepped in, filled in the gap. Food became a quiet language of care.

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And now… I can’t even eat the foods I grew up on. I’ve developed chronic health issues, and so many of the traditional dishes that brought me comfort are now off limits. That’s been hard. It’s a kind of loss. A separation not just from taste, but from memory, from family, from how I used to understand home.

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I’m learning, slowly, how to reimagine comfort. How to honor my past while taking care of the body I have now.

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And still—sobremesa. In Mexican food rituals, sobremesa is that act of lingering at the table after the meal is done. Just staying and talking, sitting in the company of others. That, I can still have. Even if the food changes, the ritual stays.