3. Grandma’s Kitchen

Grandma’s kitchen is my favorite place in the world. The air always smells of warm bread and cinnamon. Every Saturday, I help her knead dough for dumplings. Her hands, covered with small scars from years of cooking, move quickly and skillfully. “Slow down, dear,” she’d laugh when I mess up the filling. Last winter, I was sad about a friend moving away. She sat me on the kitchen stool, gave me a bowl of hot soup, and told stories of her childhood. “Goodbyes are hard, but new hellos are waiting,” she said. Now, even when I’m far from home, the thought of her kitchen makes my heart feel full.