Dinning In Love.

I always fancied how eating together is a big deal in movies. Especially when it’s a big family dinner and everyone is looking forward to it. Missing it is like the hardest thing for them to do. I mean, they’d rather miss something else than miss dinner time. One of the things I also fancy is how they talk about what’s going on in everyone’s lives and bond over a delicious meal. Hard topics? Leave it for meal moments. Rest assured it will be resolved.

Eating together with my family was one of the cores of my growing up. It wasn’t exactly a tradition or anything official, but it was one of those things we just kept doing until it became part of us. I grew up in a large family, first off, with my many siblings. My mom made sure we ate together at the same time, as long as everyone was available. And there was no such thing as eating separately or dishing your food in different plates. We were always eating in twos. Not because there weren’t enough plates to go around, but because my parents always told us that you can’t truly love someone and not be able to share a meal with them from the same plate. They made us believe that sharing a meal is a form of showing love. And honestly, it worked. We started developing this deep sibling affection. Coming from divided households where their own siblings didn’t see eye to eye, my parents were determined not to let history repeat itself with us.

At some point, I started realizing that I couldn't eat without my siblings. If they went to work, I will definitely wait for them to come back so we could eat. And who knows, they might even bring hot steamy gist from work we could laugh about while eating. Also my younger sister can't find me eating without her, when she's around. She'll definitely make a fuss about it and make me regret it. Even if we didn't eat together from the same plate all the time, she'll grab my own and ask "where should we stay to eat"?

Fast forward to when I went to live with my aunt and cousins, and guess what? It was still the same spirit. We’d all sit on a mat and eat from the biggest serving tray. No hard rules or procedures needed. Just grab your spoon, find a spot on the mat, and eat steaming jollof rice amidst gists, banter, and unstoppable laughter. Sometimes we’d fight over who gets to eat last or who’s getting the biggest meat, but it was all part of the fun. Nothing serious, just sweet chaos that felt like home.

Now those memories just lay still in my mind with no clear way to recreate them. So much has changed. I moved back home. Most of my older siblings got married and moved out. The rest of us are either working or in school, always on conflicting schedules. Sometimes, we come back home tired, and all we want is to eat alone in our rooms and scroll through our phones or watch something. These days, I eat in my room too. Just me, my food, and maybe one random movie I don’t even finish. It’s like the new normal now.

And honestly? I wish I could relive those moments. Moments where it’s a full house of loved ones, sitting together and sharing a meal. It’s not even about the food. It’s about the bonds. The stories. The little meaningless fights. The feeling of presence. Of belonging. It’s a special kind of recharge, and I honestly think everyone deserves that. You just have to be there to know what I mean.