As a young child, the smell I was most fond of was the faint smell of cigarettes. For a few years of my life my mom smoked. The smell was pungent to everyone else but me. Some days I miss who I used to be. The carelessness, the innocence, the scents of my youth. In those times I counted how long I had until I was an adult. "I have ten years until I’m eighteen!” I used to say. Now that I’m a year away, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to go back in time, to see my childhood home one last time, to smell the faint scent of cigarettes on my clothes one last time.

One distinct memory from my childhood is the thing I hated the most, cleaning. Early Saturday mornings I remember being woken up by the smell of Fabuloso, bleach, and the sound of soul music. I remember groaning as I anticipated the long day ahead of me. We started cleaning in the living room and kitchen because my mom always told me they would be someone's first impression of your home. She had me help her clean the entire house top to bottom. When it came to cleaning, my mom was a perfectionist. She would get on her hands and knees to wipe down the walls and baseboards with a magic eraser. After cleaning, we cooked smothered chicken and rice. My mom always said it was a meal that would stick to your ribs, so she would make it often, so much so that it became a comfort meal for me. I always got excited when she asked me to help her, even though most times I added too much seasoning. I used to hate the long days of cleaning, but now that they are over, Fabuloso reeks of nostalgia and past experiences; something that once felt like a chore became something that I am now responsible for doing on my own. Though when I was young I used to groan about cleanup days, now I'd give anything to wake to that music again. Now when I clean, the sound of soul music echoes in my mind.

Those were the moments I cherished. The moments I’ll miss. The hardest part of growth isn't the changes or rise in expectations; it's realizing who you were and what must be let go. As nostalgia slips through the cracks, I find myself wishing I embraced childhood now that it is swiftly slipping through my fingers. I'll never forget the girl I was because parts of her still live within me. As my childhood concludes, I take comfort in knowing that the memories of my childhood still remain within me.

There's a bittersweetness in embracing a new beginning. Remembering what once was and what must be forsaken. Time lingers for none. Now I understand why I was told not to rush to grow up. And sometimes, when I catch the faint smell of cigarette smoke, I'm reminded of the girl I was and the comfort I'm still learning to let go of.

© Kristian . All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.