by Rossana Segovia

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“You’re going to hurt yourself, let me do it.”

My mother snatched the kitchen knife from my hand and pressed the vegetables gently against the wooden board, raising the knife edge to create thin, uniform cuts, forming perfect circles and cubes for the soup she had cooked but would present to the family as my original dish.

I love my mother, and even more when we cook together, it seems to me a good bonding activity to go together to the supermarket and check the list of ingredients to put in the car, and when we get home, look for the recipe and turn on the pan to cook dinner for the weekend, but the problem is that I never turn on the pan, I don’t even get to cook, she takes care of preparing everything and it makes me feel ashamed to be a spectator to whom they give all the credit.

“First watch how I do it and next time you will do it” That’s what she told me a couple of weeks ago, today it was time to make lasagna for my grandma’s birthday and I still had to watch how the oven turned on under her touch and smell the freshly cooked dough from the distance.

And while I see her, I admire her, how she does everything with such precision and detail, one gram of salt, no more, no less, five spoons of oil, that is the recipe, but for some strange reason my measurements are never exact, always adding more than necessary or burning the food.

She will never blame my abilities or shout at me, she will gently take my shoulders to put me aside and take the knife from my fingers, mom will solve my mistakes and ask me to see carefully how she fixes them, and the frustration is tremendous, gigantic, I love my mom but she won’t let me fix my mistakes, she takes pity on me in a certain way that makes me feel useless.

Life is not about theory and observation, life is about getting burned, cutting yourself, getting confused, doing more than you should, or not putting in enough effort, and nothing in life assures us that we will learn to do things just by watching how someone else with experience gets stuff done, an experience that I have not yet begun to accumulate.

I watch her cut what I had started and I can see the difference in the cuts, horrible, uneven pieces degrade to divine perfection, and it makes me want to scream, I want to cut it wrong, I want to do it wrong, and maybe just like that one day I will manage to do it well.

Mom, let me burn myself to identify when the heat is close to my hands and learn to move away, let the boiling oil splash on me to learn to distance myself, and it will hurt me, it will surely hurt you more, I see the terror in your gaze when my fingers are centimeters from the edge and I hear your heavy breathing when the boiling pot begins to splash, when you take the knife from me I know that you do it with love, with the desperate care of a mother and that is why I have never criticized and obediently stayed in the distance admiring your skills in the kitchen.

But Mom, when will you let me take the knife, even if I get blood all over my fingers and your mind floods with worry and guilt, let me keep cutting because if I move away now I’m afraid tomorrow I could cut my hand.

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Rossana Segovia is an author currently based in the United States, specifically in Connecticut. As an international student, she brings a diverse perspective to her writing. With a passion for cooking, Rossana often incorporates this art form into her stories, adding rich layers of flavor to her narratives.

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