Baking

I love baking. It's like therapy for me besides drawing. I love to feel flour on my palms and I don't mind getting dough underneath my fingernails.

Baking always makes me feel calm and happy. It's rejuvenating in a way that's hard to explain and there's real satisfaction in it too, especially at the end of the day when I have tried a new technique or created something entirely on my own.

My passion for baking started when I was still a little girl and I would sit at the edge of the kitchen table while my grandmother baked delicious cakes for me. I would pay attention to all the little details that she would make as she baked.

I was amazed by how eggs, milk, sugar, flour and a few other ingredients could create something so delicious. When I was little, I saw it as if it was almost like magic! It's incredible.

 I always dream of having a big kitchen someday—a space where I can cook or bake whatever I want, whenever I feel like to. When I'm in the kitchen, I can give my full attention to the process: measuring, mixing, sifting, watching simple ingredients slowly become something delicious. There's something almost meditative about it. And that moment when the aroma of a cake baking in the oven starts to fill the house? Oh, I don't think anything else quite compares. 

The kitchen is my territory, and my family knows it. Everyone's welcome to be there, but I'll admit, I get a little tense if someone tries to jump in and help, or touch my tools.

Don't get me wrong. It's not about being unkind. It's just that baking, for me, is something I need to do on my own terms, in my own space. So if you ever visit and catch me in the middle of baking, please don't offer to help, just relax, and let me enjoy the process. I know that might come across as particular, or even a little rude, but it's simply how I recharge.

Watching is welcome. Touching, not so much.

This morning, I tried a new cookie recipe, and I'm quite happy with how it turned out. I made a larger batch than I needed—some went to my family and to a friend, and the rest I gave to my neighbors.

Making food for people is one of my love languages. There's a quiet joy in it—it's the simplest way I know to show someone I care, especially when I make one of my favorite recipes just for them. Seeing someone enjoy something I made with my own hands is, honestly, one of the happiest feelings I know.

Sometimes I bake for strangers—the delivery drivers, the security guards at my cluster housing estate. I can't fully explain it, but there's a real pleasure in giving people something made with care, even if we barely know each other.

I also tried making vanilla ice cream recently, mixed with crushed Oreo cookies—the texture came out wonderfully soft, but it was far too sweet for my taste, so I couldn't really enjoy it myself. I have to be mindful of how much sugar I eat in general, since diabetes runs in my family on both sides.

My parents keep a close eye on my sweets—though every once in a while, I admit, a treat or two makes its way secretly under my bed🙂

In the coming weeks, I'm planning to bake more for my other friends, though a few of them live in another city. I'm still figuring out how to ship everything safely—packing cookies loosely in a bag clearly won't survive the trip.