08/01/2026
When I was little, we had a coffee tree and an osmanthus tree growing in our backyard.
Every autumn, when the osmanthus was in full bloom, its delicate fragrance filled the entire yard and drifted through our home. My mom would take us outside to carefully pick each tiny blossom. We made osmanthus syrup, dried some of the flowers, sprinkled them over desserts, and stirred a spoonful of her homemade osmanthus honey into our tea. To me, that was the sweetest and happiest flavor of childhood.
When the coffee cherries ripened, my dad would harvest them one by one. He washed them, dried them under the sun, processed the beans, then roasted and ground them into coffee. Back then, I didn’t understand coffee—I only knew that our home was always filled with its warm, comforting aroma.
Those days feel so far away now.
Yet every time I catch the scent of osmanthus or brew a cup of coffee, those memories gently come back. I realize it’s not just the flavors I miss. It’s the home where my parents were there, where the yard was filled with the fragrance of osmanthus and freshly roasted coffee.
Even today, whenever I think of those moments, I can’t help but smile. 🤍
