The magic of cinnamon rolls

At 7 a.m., the house was filled with a salivating scent of caramelized brown sugar and hearty cinnamon. The smell attracted my family upstairs and, together, we shared a meal of gooey cinnamon rolls — this was the inception of a cherished tradition.  

While my initial attempt wasn’t flawless, it still tasted delicious — sweet bread and brown sugar rarely disappoint. Still fueled by determination, I sought to refine my recipe, completing the routine many times. I’d make the dough at night, pop it in the oven at dawn, and share the meal with my family. This became my ritual during every occasion — birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving and Mother’s or Father’s Day. I always pulled out my metallic bowl and patterned rubber spatula and whipped up a batch of cinnamon rolls. To many, cinnamon rolls are a sweet concoction to pick up at the mall or convenient prepackaged pastries cracked from a can. To me, though, within the swirls of cinnamon powder, brown sugar and butter lie memories spent with my family; the taste makes me nostalgic for the times we have shared a meal on joyful occasions. 

Over the past summer, cinnamon rolls opened my eyes to a love for my home. I spent a month away from home this summer in Illinois, 2,000 miles away. I was always determined to go far away and explore the world — this was what I had been waiting for. I was making new friends daily, spending my nights in the common rooms of a dormitory eating snacks and watching movies instead of tucked away at home in my bed. I always thought when I went to college, I’d hop on a plane and never look back. I was ready to spread my wings and soar away. However, in the midst of my grand adventure away from home filled with newfound independence, a subtle ache tugged at my heart; I really did miss my parents, a feeling I never thought I could experience. I was hesitant to acknowledge this because admitting homesickness felt like a defeat, a chink in the armor of my bravado. I had longed for this independence, this taste of the world beyond my doorstep; this was my moment to embrace the unknown. 

So, I brushed off that twinge of loneliness, determined not to surrender to the idea. Instead, I grabbed a cinnamon roll to fill that longing. I never expressed feeling homesick to anyone, especially not to my parents. I never admitted a wish to be at home. I did, however, dance around it. Instead of uttering the words aloud, I make it a tradition during that month to go around downtown Evanston and try a cinnamon roll from every shop around. 

Every time I bit into the familiar flavors, I was comforted, thinking of home and my family waiting for me across the country. Each bite echoed memories of Sunday mornings gathered around the dining table and the warmth of my home. As I crammed through classes and work each day, I still took the time to pick up a cinnamon roll and cherish the sweet memories accompanying each bite, which transported me back to the loving embrace of my home. 

Annabel Chia is a senior at Carlmont High School in Belmont. Student News appears in the weekend edition. You can email Student News at news@smdailyjournal.com.