Dear Paksiw, We Need to Talk.

 
Dear Paksiw,

Sit down. We need to talk.

And before ka mahimong defensive, please know nga dugay na kayko gadumot sa imo.

Actually, years na.

Gitry nako na sabton ka.

I have tried to appreciate you.

Gisulayan sad nako magbutang ug sili.

I have tried eating you with rice.

Gitry sad nako ilad akong sarili na basig diay kinaugmaan inig gawas nimo sa ref kay lami na ka.

But honestly?

I’m tired.

Because the truth is…

WA KAY LAMI.

There.

I said it.

Ayaw tawon pagdumot. I’m just stating facts.

First of All, Why Da Eff Are You So Sour?

Like, what happened???

Who hurt you???

Nganong lasa kang gibulagan sa maot nga uyab?

Every bite is just AS fckn LOM.

Not a little suka.

Not a cute, subtle acidity.

No.

Inig sulod nimo sa akong baba kay murag ingani:

“HELLO. I AM VINEGAR. I HAVE ARRIVED.”

Girl, obvious ba?

We can taste you.

We can feel you.

Our ancestors can feel you.

Mafeel na sa akong mga apo sa tuhod imong kaaslom.

And then people have the audacity to say:

“Mmm, perfect kaayo kay sakto ra ang aslom.”

SAKTO RA BECAUSE???

Because my tongue is currently filing a formal complaint.

Then You Have the Audacity to Smell Like That

Let's talk about your entrance.

Because miss Paksiw girl, you don't simply just arrive.

You announce your arrival nga mura jod kag nasa airport with all the speakers.

Kanang naa ra ko sa kwarto, minding my own business, scrolling sa IG reels, gatan-aw ug football, gayawyaw sa threads, completely unaware of what's happening sa gawas.

Then suddenly—

SUKA.

My nose gets notified.

I don't even have to ask what's cooking.

I already know.

"What's for lunch?"

Nobody:

Absolutely nobody:

The entire house:

PAKSIW.

Tapos ang nagluto kay excited.

Excited???

For what???

For a fish that's been aggressively marinating in vinegar like it's being punished by the government??? Like most of us, btw.

Meanwhile, kami sa akong mga igsoon:

“Okay. So mom chose violence today.”

And Why Do People Say “Mas Lami Ugma”?

Very suspiscious.

Kani kay galibog jud ko ani.

Imagine if restaurants operated like this.

You order a meal and the waiter says:

"Ma'am, honestly, it's not that good right now. But trust me, tomorrow? BOOM! GAME CHANGER."

Kadawat kaha ka?

NO.

You would leave a one-star review.

But with paksiw, somehow this is considered a built-in feature.

“Ayaw sa kaon karon, mas lami ugma.”

EXCUSE ME???

Dili need sa sud-an ang character development arc.

I don't want to wait 24 hours for the plot to develop.

Kakaonon na kayko.

Naga ror ror na akong mga dinosaurs sa tiyan.

And Then There Are the Bones.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

The bones.

Paksiw is not a meal.

Paksiw is an escape room.

You sit down.

Hungit ka kas-a.

Everything seems okay.

You chew carefully because you're an experienced adult who has learned from past trauma.

Kahunahuna ka:

"Today is a new day, nakasurvive ko sauna and gitagaan kog second chance at life."

Then—

BONE.

BUKOG.

You remove it.

Okay.

Continue.

Hungit kaduha.

BONE.

BUKOG.

Okay.

Fine.

Hungit katulo.

ANOTHER BONE.

At this point, wa na man guro ko gakaon.

I am doing archaeological excavation.

Give me a brush.

Give me tweezers.

Call National Geographic.

Because apparently my lunch comes with a full skeletal system.

And people are still saying:

“Ayaw kaayo kabalaka sa bukog.”

NGANONG DILI MAN???

The bones ARE literally part of the experience.

PASABTA KO.

“But You Need to Eat It With Rice.”

Kan-on ra juy katapat ana.

Obviously.

Because without rice, what exactly am I supposed to do with all that suka???

Rice is basically the unpaid intern of Filipino cuisine.

It shows up and fixes everything.

Parat kaayo?

Rice.

Halang kaayo?

Rice.

Aslom Kaayo?

Rice.

Paksiw tastes like a vinegar-based emotional crisis?

Rice.

At this point, I'm convinced the rice is doing 90% of the work.

Respectfully, paksiw, your best friend is rice.

Without rice, you would have no defense.

And Then Someone Always Says:

"But mine is different. You haven't tried my mom's paksiw."

Oh, here we go.

Every paksiw lover thinks their mother's paksiw is the exception.

"No, no, no. You just need to try my mama's recipe."

Bestie.

With love.

Your mama is not the problem.

It's me.

It's you.

It's us.

It's the entire concept.

Your mama could personally descend from heaven carrying the most beautifully plated paksiw known to mankind.

She could whisper:

"I made this especially for you."

And I would still be like:

“Thank you, Tita. Naa kay egg? Pancit Canton?”

Because I'm not going to lie to a woman who raised you.

“Add Sili!”

WHY IS THIS ALWAYS THE SOLUTION???

"Try daw ug sili."

Okay.

Add sili.

"Add onions."

Okay.

"Add kamatis."

Sure.

"Add garlic."

Fine.

"Mas lami if naay toyo."

Okay???

At some point, magka existential crisis na ko like:

Are we improving the paksiw or is the paksiw controlling us?

Because if I need six additional ingredients, a prayer circle, and the alignment of the planets before I can enjoy you…

Maybe you're not the one.

I've Also Heard the Word “Healthy.”

Yes.

I'm aware.

Fish.

Vinegar.

Some aromatics.

Very wholesome.

Very responsible.

Very “I need to change for the better.”

But here's the thing.

Dili porket healthy kay lami. Periodt.

Water is healthy.

I don't see anyone writing love letters to water.

Broccoli is healthy.

Nobody's mom is yelling:

“OMG! MAY BROCCOLI! FAVORITE!”

Guys, dili personality trait ang health.

I can appreciate your nutritional value while simultaneously thinking:

“This tastes like disappointment.”

Both things can be true.

Dawat-dawat.

Maybe Paksiw Is Just Misunderstood.

My Mom literally cooked paksiw as I was writing this

Maybe.

Bitaw. Basig harsh ra kaayo ko.

Maybe paksiw is actually a beautiful representation of Filipino resilience.

Maybe the vinegar represents strength.

Maybe the fish represents simplicity.

Maybe the bones represent life's obstacles.

Maybe the rice represents community.

Maybe the sili represents hope.

Maybe this entire dish is a metaphor for the Filipino experience.

But unfortunately…

I still don't want it.

Dili gihapon ko.

Pwede mu-migrate? Charot.

So, Dear Paksiw…

I think we should go our separate ways.

It's not you.

Actually…

It is you.

But it's also me.

Mostly you.

I don't hate you.

I don't wish you harm.

I don't want you removed from Filipino households.

If you bring happiness to people, live your truth.

Be sour.

Be fishy.

Be bony.

Be whatever you want to be.

Basta di ko ganahan nimo.

But maybe one day, I'll walk into the house and smell vinegar, fish, garlic, and ginger cooking.

I'll stop.

I'll look at the pot.

I'll look at my family.

I'll take a deep breath.

And I'll say:

“Okay. I'll try one bite.”

But until that miraculous day comes…

I'll be having pancit canton with egg.

Or adobo.

Or sinigang.

Or literally scrambled eggs.

Because at least with scrambled eggs, I know exactly what I'm getting.

No plot twists.

No archaeological excavation.

No vinegar attack.

No emotional damage.

Just egg.

Simple.

Peaceful.

Reliable.

Meanwhile, paksiw is somewhere in the kitchen getting better “ugma.”

And honestly?

Good for you, babe.

Take your time.

Heal.

Grow.

Find yourself.

Get therapy.

Because I'm not waiting.

Dear Paksiw, we need to talk—but not over dinner.

Dinner will be something else.

Thank you for understanding.

Sincerely,

Someone who has suffered enough.

P.S. To all paksiw defenders: I love you. I respect you. I support your right to eat whatever you want.

But if you comment “you just haven't tried my mom's paksiw”…

I'm muting you.

With love.