Thank you papa for who you are and the love you’ve given me. I will always be full because of you. Pihu Jain / Daily Nexus

For as long as I can remember, my dad has given me and my sister each a rose (and my mother a bouquet, of course) every Valentine’s Day. The roses given each year are his way of trying to show us love in a way we grew up understanding here in the States. Though he isn’t the most vocal in his affections, he is a soft-hearted, dependable man who has taught me so many things, one of which is to have a tremendous appetite for all things delicious. 

There’s something so special about the way immigrant parents show love. Not always the most vocal with affection, they do their best to show you they love you in the only ways they understand. For my parents, that currency of love has always been food. My mother is already an incredible chef, but there was something special about the foods my dad would give or share with me. 

I felt his love every day in the smoothies he would make me every morning (saffron, almond and banana), his few attempts at packed lunch (actually successfully fitting a whole small apple into a thermos), the daily cups of chai, ordering me Thai red curry and the P.F. Chang’s lettuce wrap whenever I would pout, sometimes sharing a glass of wine after a long day just to spend time with me. 

I still remember the drives to karate classes as a kid. My dad always remembered to give me a warm piece of cornbread on the way to practice, me huddling in front of the car vents trying to stay warm in the New Jersey winters, hearing made-up stories from him about spiders on Mars and two twin fish in the sea named Sini and Mini.

He used to tell me, “Don’t let your tongue drive your life”, but how could I not when he was constantly feeding me? My dad is the man who introduced me to some of my favorite foods: the seaweed I eat on an almost daily basis (supplied by him too, of course), black bean burgers at Chili’s, sea salted dark chocolate so bitter it makes you pause and be present in the moment. 

You know the saying about love driving people to invention? I don’t know if it was just love (definitely a hungry belly or two were factored in), but one of the dishes he invented has become a favorite of mine that I crave. Small cubes of bread and sweet white onion, tossed in butter until brown and delicious, served with a sprinkle of salt, a dish more precious to me than the most expensive dinner money could buy. 

It’s the silent things, like him buying whole bags of lemons and premium olive oil when I started doing lemon juice and olive oil shots in the mornings, a ton of sumo citruses after I said how much I liked them, taking the time to peel pomegranates for me, seed by seed, grabbing a guava or two from the Indian store even when they were ridiculously expensive.

I see love in how my parents’ parents cook for my family, rushing into the kitchen to cook up the foods that will transport them to when they were small and constantly cared for. I see this echoed when I come home, both of my parents scrambling to assemble my favorite dishes, sending me back to college with boxes of pomegranate seeds and buttery makhana (lotus seed).

Mothers are often so openly loved, nurturing and caring, seen as universal symbols of warmth, but I always saw both my parents in that way. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank my dad, who was often equally as nurturing and caring, a soft father in a hardened world that can leave people jaded, my father who always chooses to see the bright side. 

Thank you papa for who you are and the love you’ve given me. I will always be full because of you. 

Happy Valentine’s day to my first valentine.

A version of this article appeared on p. __ of the Feb. 12, 2026 edition of the Daily Nexus.