comfort.

I took the tortillas out of my kitchen cabinets, pressed the plastic bag against my nose and took a deep breath.

I wasn’t attempting to suffocate myself in plastic and the smell of doughy goodness, instead, I was attempting to capture that memory of handmade tortillas with a Shirley Temple in front of me at our favorite restaurant in San Antonio. I was a little girl again, my feet kicking in the air as I ate my sopapillas, licking my honey-coated fingers, never dreaming that one day I’d live miles and miles away from home.

Someone should’ve told that girl: hold tight, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Yesterday was, well, how do I put this? Hard. It was a hard day. I’d go into the semantics but no one cares that much and it would require a confusing description of journalism grad school and all that entails. Let’s just say, I was kind of in charge and I had no idea what I was doing. My pride cannot handle that.

The beautiful thing about my graduate program is that we’ve all seen each other cry. If we haven’t, we’ve at least admitted that there have been private sobbing sessions in the bathroom stall before emerging with a forced look of confidence.

It wouldn’t be journalism if it wasn’t stressful.

Sobbing quietly behind my “Oxford American” magazine, I counted the subway stops until I was finally home. I didn’t want that home. I wanted my home. I wanted the south. I wanted a front porch, my parents, my sisters, comfort food and warm nights.

I had to settle for comfort food and new friends.

Two pots were removed from the cupboard and loaded down with chopped potatoes. I’ve become an expert at mashed potatoes. It’s a feeling, no recipe necessary. Add butter, milk, salt, pepper and garlic salt to taste. How long to boil the potatoes? You just know.

I’m a southern girl, through and through. Comfort food and sharing, that’s what we do.

I made a batch of mashed potatoes then shared with my two friends, Jordan and Alex. It’s rare to meet a friend you’re willing to show weakness in front of. My weakness is viewable to everyone. Luckily, I have friends to whom I can show this weakness without fear.

A viewing of “101 Dalmatians” and multiple servings of creamy, salty mashed potatoes later; I captured my second small piece of home with a phone call to my mom.

We all need our mommies sometime. But when mom isn’t available, a bag of brown potatoes can remind us of who we are.

The next stressful day will result in homemade fries. Then there will be okra, enchiladas, Cajun green beans, biscuits, breakfast tacos, steak…