The kitchen for me has become a symbol of family and love. For as long as I can remember my mother will spend a great part of the day cooking, doing dishes or cleaning; and I was always there right beside her. She never took me by the hand to show me how to cook, not unless I asked her to, which I did when I was older. I would always observe, if not from another room I would smell and hear the action in the kitchen. Sometimes the aroma was so strong and good that it forced me to come down to the kitchen and engage in conversation with her as she would cook. Good talks and laughs have happened in the kitchen between all family members and to this day these scenes are very common in my mother's kitchen.