I always knew I wanted to sit down to write about my mother’s life — her Indian-Vietnamese roots, her work with the CIA, and how she brought nearly all of my aunts and uncles to the United States from Vietnam.

Her story was also very down to earth. I was struck that the core of her remarkable story were the universal languages of love and food.

My grandfather was very affectionate and expressive in how much he loved his family — this was unlike most Vietnamese fathers who were much more reserved. Instead of saying “I love you,” a typical Vietnamese parent will express their love through food and an unrelenting amount of selflessness as they put their children’s needs far above their own.

In many Asian homes, the first thing you’re asked when you step in the door is, “Have you eaten?”

I got the best of both worlds.

My mom’s love changed and brought out the best in people. It drove her to demand the best for anyone that she cared about. That meant she would always provide unsolicited advice and sometimes act on behalf of you.

And it fueled her cooking, from the improvised dosas and wadas from Karaikal, Puducherry to the runzas of Lincoln, Nebraska.

This journal is a tribute to my mom, using the universal languages of love and food. If you wish to share an experience that you shared with my mom, please get in touch with me and we can share it on this journal.