White rice, black beans, steak and chicken, tomato, sour cream, guacamole, and cheese. A script performed not only by one, but two persons. I was a burrito at first, but after being around a bowl for so long, getting acquainted to his ways, and sharing everything of my life with him and vice versa, I became a bowl. A bowl, which contrary to a burrito, is open, as an open-minded person. Every Friday night, I would go and eat this so succulent dish that had been mixed until the beans, rice, guacamole, sour cream and every single thing would all blend into one. Of course chips were a splendid addition. Its crunchy, salty taste, would balance the sweetness of the bowl, giving it the perfect taste. But I did not pay attention to one thing: They are also easy to break, although I didn’t think that they would break with such an ease after being so passionately and meticulously constructed. For every bite there was a laugh. For every bowl, a new story. There would always be new faces, but one face would never change. It was a constant, something I could count on. Now after months of eating what used to be the most special dish I’ve had in my life, I look back and see that I never liked that plain white rice which I ate with almost every meal, nor those dark, wet beans. Nor did I enjoy the pieces of dry chicken, with that spicy steak. I have never liked spicy things. And it was definitely not the tomato, sour cream, and guacamole, which I would never in my life eat by itself. But it was the combination of all the things, all the things put together in that bowl, that bowl that meant so much to me, that bowl that I loved.