A pink, fluffy, coconut flavored dessert that came in a plastic wrap, it doesn’t seem like it has a story, but it told the story of my childhood.
The day my family moved into our first house, I begged my dad to buy me this fluffy treat. Sugar made me happy just as it did any child. My sister and I fought over it until she finally threw it in the back of the pantry on the top shelf. There it stayed. Weeks would pass, we would clean out things that weren’t needed, but never did we move the packaged pastry. It seemed to fit in the back of the pantry, as if a reminder of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Many events took place, the joining together of a family and the breaking apart of a family. The tears caused from laughter and the tears caused from sadness. There, the pastry withstood everything, as did my child self. Years passed. We were moving out of my childhood home. The day came to get the cans out of the pantry, there we found a four year old packaged pastry. This smushed, dull, pink, coconut sweet had gone bad over time, it lost its color, the way a child looses its spark. When I threw the pastry away I couldn’t help but shed a tear. I was throwing my sweet treat away. I felt like I was throwing a piece of myself away. A pastry made me feel this way at 8 years old, a connection with sugar in plastic. My childhood home lost its touch. That pastry resembled the loss of innocence and the start of misanthropic adolescence. Though it was just a spoiled cavity ball covered in artificial pink coconut, it reflected what i became over time after going through hardships, which is just an excuse of life, because life is a hardship. Saying goodbye is the hardest thing, even if the thing you had a connection with was just a couple of walls and some curtains. It was the faces I saw in the popcorn ceiling, the stickers I put on my closet door, the play station games I played on my rug, and lastly the pink lifeless snowball in my pantry that made this place my home. Sadly, that house is gone now. It was knocked down only months after I left. All thats left of my childhood home, the only place i considered home, is an odd colored green grass  patch that grows where the house stood, vast memories and some pictures of the house on google maps. Till this day, I remember that pastry. This silly pastry resembled so much in my life, though it could just have been food for some birds. We all have one thing that reminds us of the way our life used to be, our younger selfs. Mine was this food in my dusty pantry. And what resembles life better than a packaged pastry that is bound to rot at one point in time.