Welcome! Read the latest issue of PROGRESS, featuring civics programs in Virginia. Read PROGRESS

The Meaning of Home

by Havva Mohammad Zadeh

There is something about the smell of halwa that makes me think of home. My mother lives in I ran. She cooks a delicious sweet halwa which is made with flour oil, sugar rose water and saffron. The flour and sugar turn brown and smell very sweet. The halva thickens and is soaked again in a saffron syrup. But it is more than the delicious smell in the air and the sweet taste in the mouth. It is made with love.

The taste of my mother’s halva is not only the taste of the sweet ingredients of halwa, but the taste of life the taste of love the taste of comfort the taste of a hug that brings peace. It is a feeling that not even a heavy storm can disturb.

When I think of my mother’s halwa, my mouth is watering, and it is as if I can smell it and taste it under my teeth. I feel like I am home.

One day when I woke up, I smelled my mother’s halwa in my kitchen. I was excited and thought for a moment that someone brought my mother’s halva home. I wondered if my daughter was heating it up for breakfast. I quickly rushed down the stairs and asked my daughter, “Are we having halwa for breakfast?” I was shocked.

She said, “No.” But I did not believe her. She laughed at me and asked “Were you dreaming of grandma’s halwa?” I still didn’t believe her. I checked the stove and the microwave but I didn’t find anything. I was really confused. That day, I missed my mother more than any other day.