A Seat at the Table

By Bettina Chua Abdullah, writer, solo traveller & Cummari guest

“And though each woman is in a different decade of her life, in a matter of days we find ourselves a sisterhood.”

I have a rather dismal record with dining tables. My house in Malaysia never had one, chiefly because I couldn’t find one I liked. I always preferred to sit on the floor, leaning against the sofa which had become a bookshelf, with a low table by my side for my favourite soupy noodle lunch. I finally found a suitable one on the very day I was packing up to relocate to Oxford. But it went straight from showroom to container to new house, where it languished in the wrong place: too quiet, too formal, too far from the kitchen. It didn’t invite company. Often, I got the impression it was sulking.

But at Cummari, the dining table is in the heart of the house. It has squashed its way into the centre of the kitchen, claimed the space between store cupboards, refrigerator, and sink, bumping up against a tiny worktop that is home to a jumble of mugs and pans and Moka pots. A bright Catania sun streams in on this table.

For three weeks and more, I, who have no companion, will have two. In the mornings, I will hear them hurry in to brew coffee, before dispersing once again to their workstations. Sometimes I am tempted away from my morning writing by the aroma of warm toast to find one or both there, and the table will pull us to her rim, a magnet for a quick kitchen-side chat. In the evenings, we return to the table with the bravado of gamblers, for that is what it takes to forge new connections.

We stake our adventures, ambitions, and struggles, tossing them onto the table, risking our hearts to find resonance with our fellow players. And though each woman is in a different decade of her life, in a matter of days we find ourselves a sisterhood. We no longer need to find common ground: we make our own from the heights of Etna to the depths of Pantalica.

Our table seems never to run out of room for servings of pasta, wine, and the merriment evoked by a plate of minne di Sant’Agata. It carries the joys we heap upon it, and the burden of sorrows we let down. As we bid each other good night, the bittersweet of amaro lingering, our table promises to be there for us the next day, encouraging and inviting. And the days after that, wherever Miche will next set it up. There it will hold space for us, as we learned to do for each other. As we will for all the Cummari who came before and after us.

~Thank you Bettina for your eloquent words, nourishing ways in this world and friendship.

If you are curious about Cummari we invite you to explore our spaces and retreats for women in Sicily.