Rituals provide comfort in times of sorrow from "summary" of Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner
In the depths of grief, I found solace in the familiar routines of my mother's cooking. The act of recreating her dishes became a ritual of remembrance, a way to connect with her in her absence. Each chop of the knife, each stir of the pot, was a prayer whispered to the memory of a love lost too soon.
In the quiet hours of the night, I would sift through the pages of her old recipe book, searching for the secrets she had hidden within its worn covers. The smell of garlic and ginger would fill the air, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and nostalgia. In those moments, I felt her presence as keenly as if she were standing beside me, guiding my hand as I seasoned the broth, as I shaped the dough.
The act of cooking became a form of therapy, a way to channel my grief into something tangible, something nourishing. It was a balm for my wounded sou...
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