Spoon. The word slices the tip of the tongue, slips through the cave of the mouth and disappears with a poof, in the same satisfying way my lips follow your perfect curve when I slurp yogurt off of you. There’s nothing you can’t do, nothing the smoothness of the cup that is your face, your beautifully welcoming, I-can-handle-a-lot face, can’t do. Who else could carry the weight of fried rice, marinated chicken and bird eggs while happily and dutifully keeping these foods safe and sound, tucked in and ready to go?
Food loves you, calls you its safe haven and my skin does too. You’re the only one who could bear to stand such a close relationship with both greasy oil and the dreary under eye, which is why there are plastic spoons and metal spoons and bamboo spoons and even hybrid spoons — the spork — because everyone else is just that jealous. My family and I eat with you every night and wouldn’t last a minute without your lovely presence. I adore the way your silver skin gleams in the light, but that’s only in my household. Sometimes, you are porcelain and glowing with blue flowers, and other times, you’re a delicate plastic. It’s an honor to have you around.
You are spectacular. You are my favorite. Ikaw ang paborito ko. Yet apparently, that’s all. It pains me to think that restaurants on the roads of liberty and hospitality and immigrants come to the States because it’s better see you as a tool for desserts and soups and side dishes. You, my most loved possession, are found on the outskirts of dining tables, set aside for last use. A measly knife has taken your place next to the napkin drooping like a wilted dove. A knife! Can you believe it! It can cut and stab and slice, but so can you — in addition to your already wondrous ability to scoop and hold.
I’ve been cherishing you for eighteen years and, if I’m being honest, I won’t be stopping on account of any dining conglomerate. You are magnificent and deserve to show off your talents — the greatest being your ability to be a comfort for the Filipino home. Your ability to carry yogurt, of course, is a close second.