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This is one of the most-saved, read, and shared stories on Pocket.

Recommendations from Pocket Users

Geraldine DeRuiter

Shared January 17, 2017

Reading this reminds me of why I want to write.

Peter Kirn

Shared January 12, 2017

Read it to the end. Beautiful - even if you still despise Taco Bell.

Rachel Premack

Shared July 17, 2017

I stood before that Taco Bell-KFC hybrid in Queens and felt like I had come home. I went inside and ordered biscuits and a taco for three dollars, and filled my stomach. Finally, I thought to myself, a restaurant that represented my upbringing. My heritage. Maybe I wasn't the only person in Queens who silently ate at a Taco Bell-KFC and remembered parents who lived so far, far away.

Rachel Premack

Shared July 17, 2017

Taco Bell is still the best Mexican food I've ever eaten. Because when I eat it, I'm sitting with my mom, and her hair isn't gray, and my father's brutal death from cancer is so many years away, and she is so beautiful and I am so young and safe.

Victor Lin

Shared December 27, 2016

Parents lie to their children about the cruelties of the world, and children grow up to return the favor to their parents.

Andres Cuervo

Shared March 11, 2016

cw: food
Incredible writing.

Korak Ray

Shared December 19, 2016

"Oh, mijo."

Ritika Upadhyay

Shared February 10, 2017

way to one's heart through the stomach, indeed

"Taco Bell is still the best Mexican food I've ever eaten. Because when I eat it, I'm sitting with my mom, and her hair isn't gray, and my father's brutal death from cancer is so many years away, and she is so beautiful and I am so young and safe."

Tanya Gupta

Shared January 1, 2017

Poignant story on what food means

Karan Raikar

Shared January 29, 2017

It may have its pitfalls, but fast food is a tremendous uniting force.

Raditya Pradipta

Shared February 13, 2017

"Taco Bell is still the best Mexican food I've ever eaten. Because when I eat it, I'm sitting with my mom, and her hair isn't gray, and my father's brutal death from cancer is so many years away, and she is so beautiful and I am so young and safe."

James Moriarty

Shared March 12, 2017

"Those were dark, cold days. Some people called those days "winter," but not me. "

nairmayukh

Shared January 5, 2018

This is so, so touching.

Kee Ken Fong

Shared December 30, 2016

Be prepared to sit down for a bit to enjoy this little story of culture, family and belonging.

Gabe Scelta

Shared March 22, 2017

"Then, one weekend, instead of playing the game "Sleep All Day Because Sleeping Is Free," I went walking through the streets looking for somewhere to spend three dollars. I was hoping to find a street-meat cart that served something more than charred gristle on a stick.

And that's when I saw the most marvelous sight. Glowing! In the distance!"

Ravukutam Aniketh

Shared July 24, 2017

really good.

Gretchen Zappala

Shared January 18, 2017

The writing isn't fantastic, but I still liked this very much.

This was how I survived, because racism is easy. That's why it's so evil. Judging other people on the color of their skin is, literally, the least the human brain can do. Racism is the opposite of imagination.

Radhika Nihalani

Shared March 2, 2017

because racism is easy. That's why it's so evil. Judging other people on the color of their skin is, literally, the least the human brain can do. Racism is the opposite of imagination.


I made fun of myself in order to keep my white friends laughing, because sometimes all laughter does is reinforce tribal integrity. I wanted to be part of their tribe, because my tribe—half-breeds—was a small one at my school. We numbered uno. And we were secret.

Ashton Coyle

Shared August 9, 2017

This was how I survived, because racism is easy. That's why it's so evil. Judging other people on the color of their skin is, literally, the least the human brain can do. Racism is the opposite of imagination.

Natalie .

Shared November 13, 2017

I was polite because good manners are the best way not to get shot in Texas.

Natalie .

Shared November 13, 2017

What a colorful New York character, I thought. She is terrifying and I am weak, my thoughts continued. So that's why I gave her a fifty percent tip. It was an expensive lunch.

Natalie .

Shared November 13, 2017

This was how I survived, because racism is easy. That's why it's so evil. Judging other people on the color of their skin is, literally, the least the human brain can do. Racism is the opposite of imagination.

Natalie .

Shared November 13, 2017

Taco Bell is still the best Mexican food I've ever eaten. Because when I eat it, I'm sitting with my mom, and her hair isn't gray, and my father's brutal death from cancer is so many years away, and she is so beautiful and I am so young and safe.

Audie T253

Shared January 3, 2017

Go

Elena Guzhñay

Shared February 10, 2017

Gastronomía

Ila Deep

Shared April 19, 2017

💜

Rosanna Hoxie

Shared April 19, 2017

oh YA!

Ajdaa Naima

Shared May 12, 2017

Welcome to Life in Chains, where writers share the essential roles played in their lives by chain restaurants—great and grim, wonderful and terrible. Here, John DeVore on the unexpected, self-affirming solace to be found at a Taco Bell.
T
aco Bell is the best Mexican food I ever ate. I will say this to your face over a plate of enchiladas suiza. You

R S

Shared August 10, 2017

Great

enzo roccasalva

Shared October 18, 2017

p00y5

Atrocitsaf 404

Shared December 4, 2017

Hkfdhktdhtdkhtfhkgkhf

hong kyung lee

Shared December 14, 2017

gooood~

MatiaZ Del Piero

Shared December 21, 2017

asd

Phetputsanu Jiradesprapai

Shared December 22, 2017

By

Shaniqua Jackson

Shared December 20, 2017

Love taco bell

Michelle Mazurkiewicz

Shared 3 days ago

This is such a hearfelt beautiful poem. I love it..........

I wanted to grow old in Africa
With the sun warming my decrepit bones
And my great grandchildren running through my grapevine
The heat of the sun turning their skins bronze
While they played in the sprinkler like I had done many summers ago
Sweet potatoes dug up for tea
Mangoes and pawpaws ripening in the sun
Cicadas in the trees
Nyama in the pot
Sitting on the veranda watching dusk creep up on me
Cloaked in that velvet warm darkness.
Respected for my wisdom
Revered for my vision and experience
And my son would offer me his arm and my daughter would come for advice
And I would smile and tell them how it was when I was young
And as the embers burn low
In the grate of life
I would willingly walk to the end of the path
Look over the gate to the the other side
And know when I am gone
My heart will be buried in the soil
Deep in the land where I was born
And I would be content to be married to elements that bring new life to the grass
And when the wind blows among the kopjes my spirit will wander there once more.
If we end where we begin
Why am I so far away, trapped between two hemispheres
as I walk and wander and toil away my years?
The dark days are upon us again in the north
Bringing with them who knows what
Soon the cold will descend and my eyes will grow heavy from the strain of the gloom
I will shiver and curse the grey in the sky
As my neighbours shut their doors against it
I will dream of the burning sun and remember the halcyon days of my youth
Where the endless sky stretched forever
It was my blue print for life
My beginning, everything I knew.
Sentimental am I
Nostalgic for times passed
And a land that exists no more
It is true.
For those cynics who call me foolish
I tell you this
You will only miss something once you no longer have it
and no one can understand that pain in your heart,
That longing, until they know what it means to be displaced
So please leave me to my dreams
To my memories
But most of all to my wish.
Yes, I wanted to grow old in Africa,
but life had other horizons for me to pursue.
Other things for me to do.

Poem by Cyndi Barker - Author
27/9/2016

Kenneth James

Shared November 21, 2017

Too relatable.

Then, one weekend, instead of playing the game "Sleep All Day Because Sleeping Is Free," I went walking through the streets looking for somewhere to spend three dollars.