An (almost nightly) cookie stealing ritual

If you look past the chaotic mess of a college student’s desk — scattered with free stickers, pens, the half-empty Brita and a plant that’s probably a couple of seconds from death, you’re bound to see something that looks like “trash.” For my roommate and me, that trash takes the form of a round plastic box, filled to the brim with cookies.

Just one and a half months prior, I didn’t even want to bring this box with me. In the midst of the night before leaving for move-in, filled with tears and anxieties for the four years ahead, my mom tucked the box of Costco cookies into one of the many bags. I really tried to leave it behind, claiming I wouldn’t eat them, but my mom handed it to me with her usual gentle insistence, “Take it. You’ll want something sweet. You can at least share some with your friends.” 

For the first two days of orientation week, the cookies remained untouched on my windowsill, a somewhat bittersweet reminder of home that I refused to open. In fact, the box remained closed for a very long time until one random night, when a couple of people on my floor got together in the lounge to eat food. If you asked me to truly think back to it, I really couldn’t tell you why I decided to bring the cookies with me. Maybe I was finally craving a bit of home, or I was scared they would spoil if I waited too long, or maybe my mom’s words were echoing in my mind. No matter the reason, I’m so glad I did take them with me. The cookies were quickly distributed among everyone, the centerpiece of a night of stories and laughs. Within minutes, the once-overflowing box was empty, surrounded by laughter, crumbs and the first threads of friendship.

Just as any normal person would have done, I moved to throw the container in the trash that night. Just as my hand hovered over the trash can, my roommate, who had grown a strong affinity for Nolan’s cookies, stopped me. “What if we kept the box and kept refilling it with dining hall cookies?” she suggested, “That way we can have them throughout the day if we’re hungry.”

I won’t lie and say I thought the idea was brilliant from the start. Actually, I thought she was just speed-running our freshmen 15s before the official semester even started. But the longer we kept the box, the more value it served, aside from just having constant access to a sweet treat (we had expanded from plain chocolate chip to sugar cookies, snickerdoodles, practically everything aside from disgusting oatmeal raisin and white chocolate lemon cookies…). From sneaking out way too many cookies from the dining hall in between napkins to refill it, to placing the container in the center of many late-night suite talks or simply offering them to the girls next door, the “cookie box” became a means of bonding, conversation and connection that I had sought to find since I left home. 

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had thrown the box away. I would have lost more than just a container. I would have lost the rituals that grew around it, the way it softened the loneliness of transition between high school and college, the way it came to represent the in-between space of leaving one life and beginning another. So, I suppose I can begrudgingly admit that my mother and roommate were right, although they’ll never let me hear the end of it.

Autumn simultaneously feels like a season of holding on and letting go. The trees fade in between cool greens and warm reds. The air hovers between warm afternoons and chilled evenings. Life is changing fast, time spinning us around so quickly that it can be hard to keep up. Sometimes, it’s holding onto the little things that can anchor us back to the present. Whether that object is the crumpled, tiny Polaroid of you and your grandparents in your bag, a dirty childhood toy or even something as simple as a box of cookies, I’ve learned the value of holding onto the “trash” — onto the small things that offer more value than you may think. Because sometimes keeping them, even when it seems pointless, gives it the chance to mean something later.

Aliyah Merchant is a freshman majoring in Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering from Hillsborough, N.J.