As a kid, there were few things I loved more than Ovaltine. Yep, that malty, chocolatey goodness was my jam. I’d sip it like it was the elixir of the gods, convinced that it was fueling my brainpower and possibly even making me taller. (Spoiler: It didn’t.) But then something shifted. Ovaltine went from “yum” to “yuck” seemingly overnight. Was it my taste buds rebelling? Did I simply outgrow the sugary nostalgia? Who knows. But like an old friend you’ve outgrown, Ovaltine and I drifted apart, and I didn’t look back. Until now.

Fast-forward to last week, when I found myself in the grocery store, staring at that familiar orange jar with a wave of nostalgia so powerful I could practically taste my childhood. Before I knew it, Ovaltine was in my cart, and I was excited to relive the magic. Of course, when I got home and made a glass, reality came crashing in like an overenthusiastic reality show host. Ovaltine? Still a bit gross. Apparently, some things really are better left in the past, right alongside slap bracelets and pogs.

But Ovaltine isn’t the only beverage love affair that’s had its ups and downs in my life. Let’s talk about Coke. Oh, the great soda saga. First, there was Diet Coke, my middle school crush. I loved it so much that it became my daily fuel, even though, looking back, I’m not sure what was more addictive: the bubbles or the idea that it was “diet.”

Then came Diet Coke with Lime, which took my soda game to a whole new level. Lime just made everything feel zesty and extra, like I was sipping my way into adulthood with a dash of sophistication. I was hooked. But just like my Ovaltine love, that too eventually fizzled out, replaced by Coke Zero—the crown jewel of my soda-loving years. Coke Zero wasn’t just a phase; it was a long-term relationship. It saw me through thick and thin, long work days, and sleepless nights. We were solid. Coke Zero and I? Forever. Or so I thought.

Then, in a cruel twist of fate, poof, my love for Coke Zero disappeared. No reason, no drama—just gone. One day, I looked at my beloved black can and thought, eh. That was it. No fanfare, no teary breakup, just the slow realization that what once brought me joy now felt like a casual acquaintance I might see every two weeks or so. I still crack one open here and there, but the spark? It’s dimmed. What happened? Where did the magic go? Tastes change, people change—but losing Coke Zero felt personal.

These days, my drinks of choice are far different. I’ve swapped soda for sparkling lemon ice water, which makes me feel health-conscious but slightly boring, and watermelon Red Bull because, let’s be real, I still need my caffeine fix, and nothing says “I’ve got things to do” like a watermelon-flavored jolt of artificial energy. It’s a weird combination, I’ll admit, but somehow, it works. It’s like my taste buds are evolving with the times, leaving behind the fizzy loves of yesteryear.

But you know what? When the apocalypse comes (because, at the rate we’re going, it’s inevitable), I have a feeling Coke Zero will be one of the few things still standing. And I hope—no, I pray—that my love for it will be rekindled. Because if I’m hunkered down in a bunker somewhere, I’ll need something more than just sparkling lemon water and watermelon Red Bull to get me through. Maybe, just maybe, Coke Zero and I will find our way back to each other in the end.