There are specific objects that leave me with a non-sensual and an unutterable feeling. I have a spark of excitement along with a cozy peace that comes and takes place in my heart, clearing every unnecessary stress and pressure. I just want to take a picture of it, draw it or put it into words. I basically want it to make it talk. The object that I’m so obsessed with is a cookie jar. As I said, it doesn’t make any sense but when I see it, I feel calm, the calm you feel when you don’t go to school and turn on Netflix while pulling your soft cotton blanket to the edge of your neck.
I grew up with my grandmother’s cookies. Whenever my mother avoided feeding me with dessert, which is like the worst kind of torture and abuse to a 4-year-old kid, I ran to my grandmother’s house. The cookies would be baked freshly like she had read my mind. The smell of roasted coffee and crunchy caramel cookies made a brilliant composition and it sang to my heart, my nose and my taste buds. Each time she brought her masterpieces to our house, she put them into a different jar. Maybe because she wanted to make me more attracted, or simply because I wasn’t letting my mother give the jars back to her. My eating rate and my age were inversely proportional. I started to pay close attention to my weight; therefore I was trying to eat as little as possible. When I ate little, my grandmother started to think that something was wrong with her cookies. She thought she wasn’t good enough and she wasn’t treating me right. She became upset like a child starting elementary school. Then I became sad, because the guilt of hurting my grandmother ate me up. At the end, my mother and I made a serious intervention to my grandmother and finally, she drew breath, and made the cookies non-fat and as sugar free as possible. However, when I feel like a cheat day, or a cheat month perhaps, I make a phone call for the next month’s delivery.
To this day, she still brings freshly baked cookies beginning of the month. When we pass home furniture shops, I call my grandmother to thank for cookies, and sometimes the jars. Whenever I’m sad, I take the jar filled with dozens of cookies, fix a cup of coffee and lye down in front of the TV. My process of happiness finishes when only the crumbs are left in the jar. No guilt, non-fat.