Independence
Happy Independence Day. (-:
Posted by tibetbackpacker at 02:56 AM | 3 lit incenses.
To follow. Aesthetic side of the Brain's currently rusty.
I smell curry in my hands.
Cooking. (-: I have been engaging myself in this edible art for the past two weeks. Blame the regular tickets to insanity: lack of things to do and boredom and that familiar panic that your classmates in college are all living their lives sensibly while you are immaturely sitting around wondering what's simmering for dinner when you are still on your second helping of lunch.
Oh, and Discovery Channel's Travel and Living. I got inspired by this certain show, "Just Jamie", where this teen chef, Jamie (now that's predictable), does his cooking while just practically playing around. The youth cooks for his friends. Thoughtful.
So I incorporated everything that I "learned" from that show to my first big behind-the-apron project. Just like Jamie, I made sure that everything's going to be experimental (excite ourselves). And, just like almost all the trendy lifestyle-ish Western cooking shows that we get to watch in Cable, I daringly did not use any measuring devices (have it our own way). Set aside 1 freaking Tablespoon of this, 7 unforgivable cups of that. I did a lot of pinching.
Of course, I made use of the two most widely-used ingredients in cooking shows: white wine and olive oil. hahahaha
I called it "Ginger-Lemon Caramelized Pistachio-Wallnut Chicken Wings."
Mom became so proud of me. hahahahahah
After that big success, I practically became the house's Dinner Slave. And I have enjoyed the title ever since. Tonight, for my most recent dinner task, I sort of put into an appetizing juxtaposition some ground beef, coconut milk, potatoes and, of course, curry.
Enough of this. You know what? I started a new blog. Here. Yeah. My 950,324,813,503,913,001st blog. Because, after cooking has spared me a fretting-material gloomy Sunday, I realized I should be sad. Sad and worried, not angry. Something came up. And I could not cook anything anymore just for me to divert my feelings. I asked myself, "Why not write?".
Then I realized writing does have big similarities to cooking. You get the chance to express yourself, you get the opportunity to forget your problems, you become excited with the output, and you get to regard that whatever you write, it should be universally palatable for you to get a little appreciation from your readers. So very like cooking.
And they are both in business by doing complex combinations. Parsley and Butter and Nouns and Prepositions.
Cooking and Writing may be for the tongue and the eyes respectively but they only target one thing: to arouse interest and admiration in someone else's brain.
Believe me - Chefs are vain. So are writers.
I have befriended the ladle and this keyboard. But of course, prior to them, I have considered befriending humans first. My college friends are priceless. But though major, they are just one of the many friendly sectors in my life. I mean, my cousins are my friends, my HS friends are my friends, my ex-es are my friends, and there's just no freaking way I could force all them to fuse as one.
I'm sorry. Right now, I just feel so unwanted. Do I deserve this? Maybe.
Why? I know. Maybe because I was so figuratively heavy to be with? Having all these excessive baggages? Maybe because I could be loud at times? I could be frank? Maybe because I was just not physically (aesthetically) competent? Now, I really do not know. I am clueless. Very clueless.
All I wanted was this sense of belonging. Of the assurance that a couple or more of people regard my presence as something nice. The courtesy of being invited in emergency cinnamon roll moments even with the knowledge that I cannot possibly make it. What harm can making use of the SMS feature of your phone do?
I'm ok. (-: Maybe worried, but I'll get by. And I just don't know what others might think super wrong with me. Or if they in the first place think if there is something super wrong with me.
So I made a promise not to force myself entrance to something that doesn't seem to have an interest with me. Everybody yearns to fell welcomed. I'll most likely put a pause to the 24/7 pinning of people who couldn't care less.
Paranoid? Maybe. The default accusation. But no, I am more than certain this time I'm not. One of my physical senses is acting so strongly for me to think that it is merely an overrated paranoia. I may not have seen pieces of evidence directly or heard manifestations first hand but, oh well,
I smell curry in my hands.
Posted by tibetbackpacker at 01:03 PM | 4 lit incenses.