My Nanay used to tell me that her favorite breakfast was a clean kitchen sink.
Back then, I didn’t understand it. I still didn’t even know how to hone a chisel when I first heard her say that. Now, I rarely use a chisel at all—and I have no reason left to disagree with her. A clean sink is the best breakfast. I think most people would agree, even those who hate washing the dishes.
It taught me order.
Nanay showed me how to prepare everything first. The silverware always comes ahead—they are the frontliners, the ones that goes inside our mouths. Glasses and cups follow; these kiss our lips. Plates come next, the vessels that hold our food.
Then come the bowls, saucers, and the other china—these are where meals become shared moments. These are the dishes where we slide the last slice of meat toward a loved one, especially when we feel they enjoyed the food more than we did.
The pots and pans must also be cared for, scrubbed until immaculate, as if it were their first day at work. And last—but never least—the stove. Even the humblest tuyo or dilis becomes elegant when cooked on a clean stove.
It taught me quality.
There should never be a morsel trapped between tines, nor a dark crease left under a pot or pan.
It trained me to be careful.
Cups and mugs must never leave behind a trace of black coffee or cocoa. Knives are cleaned thoroughly, but they must never draw blood.
It braced me to be graceful.
I can wash a mountain of dishes—pots, pans, everything—without getting my shirt wet.
I go to work as a furniture and cabinet maker wearing jeans and shoes, sometimes sandals and shorts, in either black or white shirts. And I can come home looking as if I never danced with sawdust or dried lacquer at all. Of course, there is dirt sometimes—but very little, and it hardly matters.
But the best thing I get from washing the dishes is not even close to everything I’ve described above.
It is the moment when my hands are busy and my mind is free—when I plan what I want to accomplish next, solve problems in the shop, and think of better ways to do things.
And maybe that is what Nanay really meant.
A clean sink does not just prepare the kitchen for the day—it prepares the mind.
Originally published on Benjie's Bench - Measuring Life's lessons in Millimeters
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