Everyone loves food but I love how it's created. Everyone loves something different but I love the kitchen. He loves sports, but I love the oven.
She loves drawing, but I love the chocolate molds. They love going to the movies but I love tempering chocolate. All of them different things but in the end all the same love.
My dad's side of the family grew up in the kitchen. Meanwhile the word"kitchen" is foreign to my step dad's side of the family.
My dad's kitchen overflows with colors I didn't even know existed. Desserts and cakes ready to be tasted by eager boys and girls of all ages.
My dad's kitchen is like Willy Wonka's factory, always producing something new and delicious. While my step dad's kitchen is like and abandoned warehouse. Everything untouched.
Sugar fairies dance around my father's masterpieces, craving all the different glazing,
mousse and filling sitting on the ridiculously long tables my dad had installed after buying his "Factory". Following orders, none of the fairies touch the beautiful creations.
Afraid to be scolded by the creator.
While my step dad's kitchen is lucky to even see a cockroach pass by, but not even the cockroach stops to glance at the bare kitchen, as there is nothing interesting to see.
Only a few pots and pans line the bare counters. Waiting to be filled with delicious foods.
On the other hand everytime I step into Willy Wonka's factory, I hear the owner complaining that there is no more room in the kitchen to place brand new equipment.
Claiming that there shall be a new metal table placed along that wall. I watch as he rants to himself, pointing here and there, imagining where all the new equipment will be placed.
While the owner of the bare kitchen has cobwebs lining the edges of the ceiling like old ripped curtains.
Every afternoon, when my father and I walk into the factory, his neat hair falls from it's place,
his suitcase disappears from his hands and his fitted suit is replaced with a white baker uniform.
As for me, my anxiety, depression and bipolar disorder finally let go of me as I walk through the factories doors.
I know they will not follow, as my father will not allow them to enter his factory. But still, they wait outside the doors, until I come back to them.
I hold my stomach, wheezing with laughter. I laugh at Willy Wonka. Seeing him run around in the kitchen laughing as chocolate covers his once white baker uniform.
But after many attempts to remake an impossible creation, he makes it. He gives me the last few decorations and I delicately place them on his latest remake of Zumbo's floating hat.
Triumphantly he spins me around laughing as the last decoration is placed. He covers me in chocolate and waves his chocolate covered whisk in the other hand.
Chocolate flies off his whisk, intoxicating the air around it. After his smooth, chocolatey laugh dies down, he claims that one day his factory shall be mine.
But after long hours into the night, Willy Wonka finally decides to retire from his kitchen, leaving it spotless for the next day.
We turn off all the lights and make our way towards the entrance but we both come to a halt before the grand entrance doors.
I kneel to grab a water bottle from the pack of water bottles on the side of the wall and I open it. I look up to see Willy Wonka's face holding a small smile as he hands me 5 pills.
I watch as he puts my prescribed pills back into his suitcase, hiding them from sight. I look at the pills in my hand. One small, one large, one oval, one pale blue and one pale green.
I close my eyes and place them on my tongue, quickly I drink from the water bottle and I instantly feel all the pills slide down my throat.
I swallow and place the water bottle on the ground and smile as I met Willy Wonka's worried face. Upon seeing my smile, he smiles back. We wait a few minutes before I feel light as a feather.
I push the doors open, revealing the pitch dark night, waiting for me. I glance at my dad as we step into the night. His hair is back in place and his fitted suit clings onto him once again.
I glance at my illnesses as I walk past them. My father holds my hand and smiles at the night. I smile and give his hand a small squeeze.
Behind me, I feel them following but I know they won't touch me as long as I am with him. He is the only one that can scare them away, just like they scare me.