You show love by feeding people — and no one says thank you

You can't remember the last time you showed up anywhere empty-handed. You cook when you're happy, you cook when you're worried, you cook when there is nothing to celebrate and you decide to make a reason anyway. You remember how a person takes their coffee, which dish they reach for first, what they said once, months ago, about the soup their grandmother used to make. You notice these things the way other people notice the weather. That's how you love. Not in grand speeches — in warm plates and full tables. You feed people because, to you, feeding someone is the most honest way of saying: I'm glad you exist, I want you to be okay, let me take care of you for an hour. But here's what quietly hurts: no one says thank you anymore. The meals, the thought, the remembering — it's become the weather of their lives too. They eat, they nod, they leave. And you start to wonder if anyone even tastes it. In the Ten Gods, this is the purest expression of Shishen (食神) — the energy of nourishment, taste, and the instinct to create something good and give it away. It is not a small thing you do. It is the language your soul speaks. The problem is not that you give too much. It is that you give without ever saying what the giving means. So say it. Next time you set the table, let them know what it cost you — not the money, the love. "I made this because I was thinking about you." Watch what happens. The people who see the love in the plate are your people. The ones who don't — you were never cooking for them anyway. You were cooking for the ones who'd taste it. Keep the table for them.