I like classic souvenir sweets. From Okinawa’s chinsuko to Hokkaido’s Shiroi Koibito, long‑loved sweets are always delicious. But when I buy snacks at the supermarket, I often choose seasonal ones.

I finished reading Watashitachi no Oyatsu no Jikan by Sakino Tsukine.

It is a collection of short stories about sweets. Each story is separate, but in the end the characters slowly connect. This soft connection gave me a warm feeling, like after eating something sweet.

The first story about Riko and Mado was sad and sweet at the same time. My heart tightened, and I understood the word “kyun-shi.”

I asked myself, “What are my own memory sweets?” I realized they were all handmade.

My grandmother’s ohagi, kuridako, and yubeshi. There are no recipes left, so I cannot eat them anymore.

My mother’s bavarois, banana cake, and sherbet from when she was healthy. I tried to make them as an adult, but they did not taste as special as before.

The sweets I made for my children: kinako candy, strawberry jam, and oatmeal raisin cookies.

The sweets I ate at home stay in my memory more strongly when they were handmade. I remember not only the taste but also the air, the smell, and the feelings of that time.

I do not make sweets very often now, but handmade sweets feel special because they take time and care.

In this book, I was especially interested in sweets from other countries:

• Gajar Halwa from India
• Polvorón from Spain
• Bird’s Milk from Poland

Their names are beautiful, and when I looked up the recipes, they seemed possible to make. I want to try them someday.

The slow cooking of Gajar Halwa, the warm smell of toasted flour for Polvorón, and the soft setting of Bird’s Milk.

All of these feel like time for myself. I want to have time that helps me take care of myself.

Just looking at the recipes and imagining the ingredients, while remembering the characters from the book, already gives me a small feeling of comfort.