Children's Cake

Children's Cake

　　When I was little, I absolutely loved something called plum blossom cake. On the way home from kindergarten, my dad would always buy it for me.

　　　　　　The white rice cake, with black sesame in the middle, would be lifted steaming hot from the small steaming box. It was a bit hot to hold, but I couldn’t wait to pop it into my mouth. And then, my whole heart would feel warm.

　　　　　　Later, when I started school, I became reluctant to admit that I loved this thing also called “children’s cake.” Even if I walked past it, my eyes would be fixed on it and my nose would catch every whiff of its aroma, but I’d still stubbornly say I didn’t want any. When I saw other kids eating it, I’d join in and tease them: “How old are you? Still eating children’s cake?!” But deep down, I felt an indescribable envy. There were a few times I secretly bought and ate it, but I’d gobble it down in a flash, afraid of being laughed at. Kids really do have silly thoughts. Looking back now, it’s truly a pity about those years.

　　　　　　Then, these street-side stalls gradually became rare, and as I grew up, I slowly forgot about my former fondness. In college, during class one day, a long-lost smell wafted over. Really, it was that same faint sweet fragrance—rice flour mixed with sesame, blending into an indescribably delicious taste. The student sitting in front of me, who was from out of town, had never encountered such a treat before and seemed bewitched, eating it for breakfast every day. So, every day, I got to savor that sweet aroma drifting in front of me. Finally, I couldn’t resist any longer. After class, I dashed down six flights of stairs to find that childhood craving.

　　　　　　Nothing had changed, everything was just the same—the small steaming boxes, giving off wisps of white steam, the soft rice cakes, being lifted out one by one. Hot to the touch, in my hands, in my heart, and in my memories.

　　　　　　Later, when I ate it with friends, I’d always think of the happiness from back then. It was small, not just the plum blossom cake, but all my joy and memories.