This is the worst day of the year. You left without saying goodbye.

The last dish you prepared for me was roasted chicken, with your homemade mashed potatoes arguably the best in Malaysia.

Sometimes, you added a bit more spices than usual, but I don’t mind. It only meant that you made them with bare hands. Wasn’t that so?

Only pseudo chefs would pretend to make a dish taste the same every single day. You were not like that.

I was so proud of you that I even invited my friend, Yuin Yin, to come taste your food right after her cancer treatments.

She ordered your strawberry milkshake. Did I ever told you how much she love strawberries? Even though the surgery dulled her tastebuds, she insisted to try.

And Reuben. Do you remember Reuben? He took the semester off and went to China on mission. I am sorry for him for he did not manage to see you one last time. That boy loved your sandwiches.

The same as what you did to every dish, you made his sandwiches with such dedication. I would never find better ones anywhere else in Malaysia.

How are you, Dennis? Have you boarded the plane? I am sure you miss home in U,K, Especially your little girl.

Will we see you again?

I tried out the new chefs today. They are young lads. 20-odd Malaysians sporting a baseball cap and black tee. My friend said their chickens were rough and the price was not worth it. So I carefully picked only mashed potatoes and salad.

You know what, yours are still the best of the best. At the very least, yours are homemade. You don’t buy frozen instant stuffs from the store and charge us for them.

Come back, Dennis.

I was such a diligent girl. I worked 36 hours straight on one research proposal and got a temperature. When I dragged myself to class, I did not find you where you belonged. You know how depressing that was?

Academic research is tough and lonely. But I have no complains. At least, give me a decent chef for goodness sake.

Dennis, come back!

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