For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a picky eater. I recall a homemade dish my mom cooked, Kor Sach Chrouk, which translates from Khmer into caramelized pork stew. As a 12-year-old, this was the first time I’ve ever seen this dish and I turned it down the moment I saw it. It looked like a convoluted mess, the worst shade of brown I could imagine, the alien-like meat protruding from a thick, dense broth. I wouldn’t even consider bringing this to school for lunch because of how unappealing it looked. I stuck to visually familiar American cafeteria lunches—pizza and chicken sandwiches—due to my fear of trying new things. The sight of something unfamiliar threatened me.

Being a picky eater, analyzing every food aspect was crucial for me. In other words, I’d subconsciously “grade” food on two key elements: is it appealing to the eyes? Nose? If none of the food in my hand met this standard, I would always avoid it. When offered homemade food, my response might be a courteous “I’m full.” I did eat Cambodian food, but it was always my last option; I rarely enjoyed it. Fast forward to 8th grade, I appreciated fast food more, and McDonald’s became a staple—a 20-piece chicken nugget and filet-o-fish meal (I love both of these; choosing was tough). This love for fast food stemmed from a lifetime in America, where fast-food restaurants are common. Weekends turned dining out into our American family tradition, despite the unhealthy aspect of non-home-cooked meals.

Then, nearing the end of my sophomore year, I recognized the need to shift my attitude as college loomed just a few years away, and I would be living in an entirely new environment. This revelation terrified me. Recognizing my struggle to step out of my comfort zone, I knew that succeeding in college would be a major challenge.

I would frequently compare myself to other extroverted students, and my self-esteem would just shatter. I envied classmates who were involved with sports, drove cars, and had confidence. What set them apart from me? Driving, playing sports, and being outgoing felt like stepping into unknown territory. While others navigated these experiences easily, I hesitated, sticking to what I knew for a sense of safety. In a way, it felt like a race where everyone had sprinted ahead, leaving me at the starting line.

Feeling immature for my age, I walked home from the last day of sophomore year with a determination to change. As a first step out of my comfort zone, I chose to embrace a variety of unique foods, starting with Kor Sach Chrouk—a dish that had lingered in the back of my mind for years.

In the summer heat, a giant metallic pot stood still, simmering over the stove. By dinner, my mom had a plate of white rice waiting for me. I creaked open the lid and was met with a big gust of steam. Seeing the brown broth and marinated pork made me uneasy. The day before, I asked my mom to prepare this dish—willingly doing so with a curious demeanor. Now, holding the spoon, I drizzled broth over the rice, adding boiled eggs and pork chunks onto my plate. The first bite was surprisingly savory, and the aroma smelt more pleasant than what I initially remembered. I was shocked! I savored each bite of Kor Sach Chrouk that summer evening.

I realized that my journey toward self-discovery was a lot like trying a new dish. I recognized many missed opportunities due to my inability to leave my comfort zone. Just as the caramelized pork soup once seemed alien, stepping out of my comfort zone felt the same. From learning to drive and embracing my first job the same summer, each of my accomplishments added its own unique spice to my personal growth. Gaining confidence opened doors to opportunities I couldn’t pursue due to my unwillingness to change. It goes to show that something as simple as trying new foods can spark a change. So whenever you are given an opportunity to try something—try it. You might like it.

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