My Dad and I had a tradition of trying new foods. From Chinese Peking Duck to Israeli Kugel, every bite deepened our bond. We would find ourselves after a night out smelling like various spices with our stomachs stuffed to the brim. Although I meant that “full feeling” in our stomachs figuratively, this phrase cruelly turned into a reality. When my Dad was unexpectedly diagnosed with stage four Colon Cancer, he continued to make it a priority to take me out to weekly dinners. We continued to expand our taste palettes and try new meals. Eventually, my Dad’s tumors started to feed on not only his radiant personality but also his appetite. One night, I watched him push away a plate of his favorite dish, his eyes, once full of zest, now mirrored pain and fatigue. My Father’s passing triggered a massive upheaval, so I did not have much time to process my emotions. My mother, who had been a homemaker, faced the daunting task of managing our finances alone. Without my Dad’s income, it forced us to sell our dream home in LA and move back to Nashville. When my Dad died, so did our cherished tradition of discovering new food and cultures together. Food no longer burst with vibrant flavors, their meaning blunted and held no interest to me anymore. Instead, it reminded me of the tasteful memories we would never get to experience together again. A year later as I was sitting in my high school cafeteria talking about the tasteless, well-avoided school lunch, I started to ponder why there were only a few cuisines served to the student body. Students were not exposed to a lot of different cuisines like I was, and honestly, that bothered me. I wanted to share my value of exploring food with my peers, but felt lost on how to do so. The idea of talking to other people about food should have been easy, but it still caused painful memories that I was not ready to experience. Coincidentally after thinking about this for a few days, the daily school announcements came on. Our principal chimed on the intercom with what she called an “exciting announcement.” She mentioned that the annual school club showcase was next week. Then it hit me. I was going to create a club about food. On the day of the club showcase, I titled my poster “The International Food Club: Club for adventurous eaters.” Although this advertisement was far from perfect, I ended up having over 200 people sign up. This made the club the fastest growing at my school that year! That year, I held many meetings for our organization. Each gathering became a culinary journey, introducing a new cuisine for members to explore. Before we indulged, I took the time to research and educate my peers about the origins and significance of the dishes we were about to savor. What I didn’t realize is that through the food club, I was able to transform my grief into an incentive for change that created a whole new community of adventurous eaters. My Dad taught me that trying new foods was not just about satisfying our taste buds. It was about experiencing different cultures and learning about other people’s traditions and perspectives. Each dish we explored in the club wasn't just about the flavors; it was a blend of traditions, stories, and memories. Not only did my Dad inspire me to try something outside of my comfort zone, but he taught me that my passions and values can be applied anywhere that I go.