Shared Memories

I remember one summer, my grandfather taught me all the constellations. We would lay on the cool grass, the smell of night-blooming jasmine in the air, and he would trace the shapes of heroes and monsters in the sky. That was the summer I fell in love with the universe.

My grandmother's kitchen was a magical place. The first thing she ever taught me to make was her famous adobo. I was so small I had to stand on a stool to reach the counter. I made a huge mess with the soy sauce, but she just laughed. I still have her handwritten recipe card, stained and faded with time.