Why I Don’t Eat Birthday Cake

My mother spent summers peeling peaches from our orchard and boiling them in sugar syrup. The jars of kompot were for rare guests, Ramadan dawns, birthdays. She would hide one jar for December and let me eat with my fingers. Peaches slipped down my throat in frozen honey, sour flesh shocking my baby teeth as I slurped agda syrup off my wrists. I ate everything and complained of a stomachache, napping on the tattered couch, her cool palm on my forehead.

Now I buy canned peaches at supermarkets and eat over the sink. It’s cheaper than plane tickets.

Uma Hamzić is an American-Bosnian living in Sarajevo. In her academic life, she is graduating from International Burch University in English Language and Literature, with the hopes of pursuing a Ph.D. in discursive identities. At night, she types literary fiction for nostalgic adults. The eclectic collection of freelance jobs comes in between. Her work can be found in the Spring 2022 Issue of The Last Girls Club. Twitter: @HamzicUma.