I can still remember that day so vividly, as if the memory were carefully folded and kept in the softest corner of my heart. It was the day I first tasted my favorite chocolate; a simple piece of chocolate that, in its simplicity, opened a small window into a world of meaning, emotion, and memories that never truly fade.
I was a child then. An age when rain felt like a miracle and the sound of a crinkling candy wrapper was music announcing a small moment of joy. In my small, vacuum, dark and cold room, chocolate was not an everyday treat. It was more like an honored guest: rarely present, but when it appeared, it brought a spark of happiness that words could never fully capture.
That day, my mother came home from the traditional market with a tired but loving look on her face; the kind only a mother can have:
“Même si, ces derniers jours, elle n’avait reçu aucune affection de la part d’un mari, car elle n’avait reçu que des larmes et des violences physiques.”
From her cloth bag, she pulled out something: a shiny red wrapper with the shiny word printed in a gold tone that looked luxurious to my young eyes. I stared at it the way one might stare at treasure. My mother smiled; a small, gentle smile carrying untold stories and softly said, “This is for you. Keep strong, okay?”
I nodded with tears running down but smile as a colaboration with her smile. Even though my body still hurts because of punch marks few hours ago, that didn’t dampen my joy in biting the chocolate. Slowly, a warmth spread through my chest long before the chocolate touched my tongue. Now I understand: sometimes love arrives even before it is spoken. Sometimes love takes the form of a chocolate bar bought from the leftover coins in a market bag.
When I opened the wrapper, a sweet aroma filled the air. The chocolate felt cool at my fingertips, but as soon as it melted on my tongue, something inside me shifted. The taste wasn’t merely sweet. There was the crunch of cashews, the gentle touch of sugar, and a strange warmth, a taste that made me want to cry without knowing exactly why. Perhaps because, for the first time, I was tasting a small form of happiness. Or perhaps because I sensed something deeper than food: love that works quietly, sacrifices that announce nothing, affection expressed in simple things.
Years have passed since then. I have tasted many things: the bitterness of failure, the sting of loss, the sweetness of achievement and punishment after punishment hidden in the words of education to be a good child.
I have eaten chocolates from many brands, many countries, many qualities. But none of them ever surpassed my first Silver Queen; A precious gift that had been given by The Queen that will never become Gold in her husband eyes….
Its taste feels like time embracing me. Eating it now brings me back to that child sitting on the floor, holding chocolate with both hands, while the sound of my mother’s footsteps in the kitchen formed the background music of my life.
That chocolate taught me something: happiness often arrives in small pieces. Love does not always come in grand or dramatic gestures; sometimes it comes as a chocolate bar bought with money that should have been used for something else. Sometimes it arrives as a tired smile that still wants to make someone else happy.
My first experience eating Silver Queen was not just an experience of tasting food. It was an experience of tasting life, tasting love, tasting human warmth. Even today, every bite of Silver Queen reminds me that life may constantly change, but there are certain memories that never melt, even with time.
And perhaps, in the end, we are all like that chocolate: a little bitter, a little sweet, yet always holding something worth sharing….. which is Love, support and a warm hug for a lonely soul…. “Comme moi…. Oui…. Comme moi….”