Lala had always been a little girl who found happiness in the smallest of things. Among her favorite possessions were two colorful bowls she had received from her grandmother. One was pale pink with little white flowers painted on the side, and the other was a soft blue with a rim decorated in golden lines. She used them every day—sometimes for cereal in the morning, sometimes for rice at lunch, and sometimes for ice cream on special evenings. To Lala, those bowls were more than just kitchenware; they were treasures filled with memories.
One Saturday morning, as Lala helped her mother in the kitchen, she carefully washed her two bowls. She hummed a little tune while rinsing them, but her hands were slippery from the soap. Before she knew it, the pink bowl slid from her fingers and tumbled onto the tiled floor. Crash! The sound rang in her ears like thunder. She froze in shock, staring down at the shattered pieces.
“Oh no!” she gasped, her eyes filling with tears. She bent down to pick up the shards, but her mother quickly stopped her.
“Sweetheart, don’t touch it. You’ll cut yourself,” her mother said gently, sweeping up the broken pieces with a dustpan.
“But Mama,” Lala whispered, her voice trembling, “that was my favorite bowl.”
Her mother hugged her tightly. “I know, Lala. Sometimes things we love break. It hurts, but it’s part of life.”
Lala tried to be brave, but inside she felt like a storm was brewing. The blue bowl became even more precious to her after that. She promised herself she would never let it slip from her hands. She held it carefully, as though it were made of glass thinner than a bubble.
But as fate would have it, the following week, Lala was eating noodles with her dad. While reaching for some chopsticks, her elbow accidentally knocked the blue bowl from the table. Time seemed to slow as she watched it fall to the ground. Crash! The familiar sound pierced her heart. Her last favorite bowl lay in pieces on the floor.
“Nooooo!” Lala cried, covering her face with her hands. She burst into tears and ran to her room, not even wanting to see the broken pieces.
Her dad knocked softly at her door a few minutes later. “Lala, may I come in?”
She sniffled. “Okay.”
He sat beside her on the bed and handed her a tissue. “I’m so sorry about the bowl. I know how much it meant to you.”
Lala wiped her eyes. “Why do the things I love always break? Now I don’t have any special bowls anymore.”
Her dad thought for a moment, then said kindly, “Things break, Lala. But that doesn’t mean the memories go away. You’ll always remember your pink and blue bowls. And maybe now, it’s time to find new favorites.”
Lala tilted her head. “New favorites?”
“Yes,” he said. “We can go together and choose new bowls that are just as special. Maybe even more special, because you’ll pick them yourself.”
Lala wasn’t sure. The thought of new bowls made her feel a little better, but she also felt scared. What if she never loved the new bowls as much as the old ones? What if they didn’t feel right? The confusion made her frown.
The next day, her parents took her to a big store that sold all sorts of kitchenware. Rows and rows of bowls stretched before her—ceramic ones, glass ones, wooden ones, even shiny metal ones. Some were plain, some had patterns, and some looked so fancy they could have belonged to a queen.
Lala wandered slowly through the aisles, her eyes wide. But instead of excitement, she felt overwhelmed.
Her mom asked, “Do you see any you like, Lala?”
She shook her head. “They’re all pretty, but… none of them feel like mine. I don’t know which ones to choose.”
She sat down on a little bench in the store and buried her face in her hands. “It’s too hard. I miss my old bowls.”
Her dad crouched beside her. “Choosing new things can feel confusing, but let me tell you a secret. Sometimes, it’s not about finding something exactly like the old one. It’s about finding something that makes you smile in a new way.”
Lala peeked at him. “But how do I know which ones will make me smile?”
“Trust your heart,” he said with a gentle grin.
So Lala stood up again and walked slowly down the aisle. She tried to imagine using each bowl. Would she like eating cereal from it? Would noodles look good inside? Would it feel nice to hold?
After a while, she spotted a set of bowls at the very end of the shelf. They were white with tiny hand-painted stars in different colors—blue, yellow, red, and green. When she picked one up, it felt light but sturdy in her hands. She imagined herself eating ice cream while looking at the stars on the rim, almost like holding the night sky in her lap.
Her eyes sparkled. “Mama, Papa! I think… I like these ones!”
Her mom smiled warmly. “Those are beautiful, Lala. Do you want to get them?”
Lala nodded. “Yes. They’re different from my old bowls, but… they feel special too.”
At home, when she had her first meal in the starry bowl, she still thought of her pink and blue bowls for a moment. She remembered the warmth of her grandmother’s smile, the fun dinners with her dad, and the cozy breakfasts she had enjoyed. But now, instead of feeling sad, she whispered softly, “Thank you,” to the memories.
She dipped her spoon into the new bowl and grinned. The stars around the rim seemed to twinkle back at her.
Over the next few days, she realized something important: her favorite bowls had broken, but her happiness didn’t have to. Memories stayed in her heart, and the new bowls gave her a chance to create even more special moments.
Whenever she felt confused about choosing, she remembered her dad’s words: Trust your heart. That little piece of advice stayed with her, not just for bowls, but for many choices she would face in the future.
From then on, Lala cherished her starry bowls. They reminded her not only of her grandmother’s love but also of her own courage to let go of the past and embrace something new.
And sometimes, late at night, she would sneak into the kitchen, pour herself a little scoop of ice cream, and smile as the stars around her bowl twinkled in the soft light—whispering that everything would be okay.
