One Sunday, after worship, in the kitchen's heart
Beside my dad, ready to play his culinary part,
Pancit bihon, a dish for the brethren's feast
His precise movements, a rhythmic masterpiece.

I sat on a broken chair, in admiration’s gaze,
Watching him cook, lost in a nostalgic haze,
He spoke of lolo Boni and lola Cora’s ways,
Self-taught, he learned to cook through challenging days.

With ingredients mixed in a pot, magic unfurled,
Creating flavors, confidence in every swirl,
His smile, a beacon of passion and delight,
Inspiring me to seek my own fervent light,

Chemistry, my love, a class so divine,
Mystical flasks turning liquid to pink wine,
Bubbling concoctions, pungent fumes arise,
Careful measurements, like cooking, a secret prize.

In chemistry’s realm, a secret language found,
An intricate puzzle, where mysteries abound,
Just like my dad, with his cooking so true,
I find my passion in chemistry’s hue.