Magnolia Full Cream Milk

Jump to Comments

I’d forgotten how much I used to love milk. Milk before bed was the best. In that tiny college apartment, I had milk before bed no matter how much beer I had consumed. If you opened the fridge you’ll find some beer, some milk, and food gone bad. (I really am a girl.) It was a good thing I lived alone too.

Magnolia Full Cream Milk is second best. I like Carabao Milk best (I think the carabao is called a water buffalo? in english.) But the good milk brings back fond memories. I was two, sitting on the dining table, sipping milk from that white plastic tumbler with a pink lid and stars printed on it. I was three, and I was delighted to find a bottle of carabao’s milk on the floor next to the door. (The farmer even used a folded up banana leaf as bottle topper.) I remember calling my father and asking him to boil it (yes, I knew about heating milk, because I once drank straight from the bottle and my tummy hurt.) yelling for him to please pick up the bottle because I didn’t want to break it.

The wonders of milk. Some days when I had too many things in my head I would warm my milk, and sip slowly. It always put me to sleep. But then I got old and forgot things. Does this mean that the older I get the more I’ll forget?

It seems the things I like to remember are slowly fading away like dry leaves that fall from the tree. If the good ones are leaves, then the terrible memories must be fruit that fall and rot all around me. A rotting madness that invite flies and scavengers, entirely unpleasant and endlessly uncomfortable.

0 Comments

Filed under ...