There are few dishes that are as sentimental to me as kimbap. It’s the Korean equivalent to a sandwich — perfect for field trips and picnics, endlessly riffable to whatever’s in your fridge, and absolutely delicious.

But I wasn’t always such an outward kimbap enthusiast. I remember sitting in the cafeteria in elementary school, peeking under the table to see what my mom had packed me for lunch, and feeling pangs of shame and guilt when I saw the neatly boxed tupperware of kimbap. I was starving but felt too embarrassed to eat it, silently wishing she had packed me a pizza lunchable or turkey sandwich instead. Sometimes I’d sit there and sneak one roll at a time into my mouth while hiding the lunch box in my lap. Other times, I wouldn’t eat at all, pretending I wasn’t hungry. How I wish I could speak to that little girl! And what would I say if I could?

I’d tell her that there are things about ourselves that we can change — our clothes, our hair, our friends. But there are things about ourselves that are unchangeable, immutable, deeply precious. So this AAPI Heritage Month, I recalled some of these memories and redeemed them by telling a new story.

For the majority of my life, I spent my days wishing I was somebody else. But for the first time in my 20s and now much more confidently in my 30s, having walked a long and winding road, I feel like I finally am the woman I’d like to become. And that confession isn’t possible without celebrating my Korean identity and remembering that nobody can be me quite like I can. And I hope you walk away feeling like you don’t have to pretend to be anybody else because nobody can be you.

So to celebrate, here’s a fun and gorgeous reimagination of my childhood lunchbox redeemed. Whenever I (proudly) eat kimbap today, I always wish there were more than two “end parts” where the colorful fillings spill out on both sides of the roll. So I hope you enjoy my recipe for kimbap end rolls with edible flowers and perilla leaves. They’re almost too pretty to eat.

Miij, @fruitandsup