A Jar of Rose Jam
I was walking through the supermarket aisles when something caught my eye.
A jar of rose jam.
And just like that, I could taste it. I could even smell it.
That unmistakable sweetness I hadn’t thought about in years.
My teta (grandma) was the one who introduced me to rose jam. She used to spread it on a piece of bread for me, and I loved it. It was one of those little things I associated with being at her house.
My heart broke a little.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t just looking at a jar of jam. I was that little girl again, remembering her teta and her childhood.
I think about her every day. So much of her is still present in the little things I do, and I carry countless memories of her with me.
But this one was different.
I didn’t go looking for it.
It found me.
Some memories we choose to revisit. Others come looking for us.
You can go about your day, completely caught up in your own little world, and something as ordinary as a jar of jam can take you back to that warm little corner of your heart.
For a brief moment, you remember not just the person, but how it felt to be with them.
I walked into that supermarket to buy groceries.
I certainly didn’t expect a little piece of my childhood to be waiting for me on a shelf.