Make your wave or bend

I didn’t realize how dependent I was with microwave ovens until the one here at the apartment broke down. I didn’t know how or why, since I am not here in the weekends. I put a cup of water on the rotating dish, and waited for the number 1:00 to register as I pressed the numbers. I pulled the plug and plugged it back in but still it nothing. It was like it just died a quiet death which forced me to use the stove top once again.
Microwave ovens, during my younger days, were an appliance for the rich or well off. I didn’t use one until I came to the United States. I remember the first time I used one was to heat up rice for dinner with my father and brother. Since then it’s been the staple kitchen and home dining implement in my household. Now it is as if I can’t eat at home without it. The demise of such an appliance in my adult life drew me to contemplate on how my life has changed in the past 10 years.
For instance, I’ve realized I haven’t cooked a full meal in almost a year. It’s not uncommon of course, but my upbringing makes me feel bashful about this. Using the microwave to heat up my everyday food is something college students straight out of high school does; not a grown woman.
This made me wonder why I haven’t cooked for so long. My answer to that is this: cooking, the way I see it, is a communal and social activity. One always should cook for other people as well as for one’s self. My parents, when I stay with them, insist on cooking. When I am here at the apartment alone, it seems like a waste to cook when I am not sure if others will eat the food as well. Often too, I come home and see food in the fridge, ready and begging to be heated in the microwave oven.
Now the microwave is dead. I wonder what I will do for tea tomorrow morning. I can heat up water on the stove, but it will be different. I’ve depended so much on the microwave that I have to make all these adjustments. I can do this! I can survive without a microwave oven, I’ve eaten many meals at home in the Philippines without it. Yet I am not quite convinced. I am still in the state of disequilibrium.
The microwave oven is a symbol that divided my childhood from adulthood. It is can be taken as a sign of progress or conformity, sometimes even laziness which ever way one might see things. The realization that I am indeed dependent on the microwave oven for my survival is disconcerting and a way to remind myself to be more flexible in the face of the changing times. Cooking more and giving it away may not be such a bad idea after all.