Real FoodA vegetarian life style found me at a later stage in my life. It was hard to get away from my eating habits. I choose to make this change for my health and for my family’s future. What I never knew is that I would be criticized because of what I eat. Coming from a family of steak and potatoes of course I knew I would have a hard time finding food at family get togethers. So I would either bring my own or eat before I arrived. What I didn’t realize is how I would be personally attacked by my family for a choice I made that doesn’t even concern them. “Are you going to eat real food” I hear the contempt in my aunts voice as she belittles my choice to feed me and my son a vegetarian fried rice. Really? Why must I feel guilt for wanting my family to be the best healthiest versions of themselves. I don’t force my six year old to reject food he likes, but I do make vegetarian meals. Yes my one year old doesn’t know any better so his diet mimics my own. How is this any of your business? Trying to make me feel like a bad parent and like someone who doesn’t take care of themselves is not what family Is supposed to do. We should be a support system. I constantly hear ridicule and when I try to defend my views I am bombarded by more insults. There is a thousand reasons why I choose to be a vegetarian, and I’m not trying to belittle or convert you so back up. Also, don’t ask why I make the choices I do and then ridicule me because you think my facts are not correct. I’m pretty sure I’ve invested enough time into searching for evidence and information that I don’t need your fact-less opinions. Just because something is different doesn’t mean it’s wrong. 🥗🌽🍏🥒🥦🥑🍆🥕🌶🍅🍉🍇🍓🥔🍌
First loves are always the best and most embarrassing parts of your life.
Your stomach uneasy, palms sweaty as the boy you have been eyeing is walking not even five feet from you. The feeling of pure joy mixed with dread consumes you and it feels as if you will never feel anything this intense again in your life. You think about him for days and write your name with his over an over as you vividly see your imaginary future together. Childish lust when viewed from the outside, but when you see it from the inside you see hope. Hope that your dreams could come true and this image of pure happiness could become real.
The memory feels like a haze to me, and the farther I get away from it the less I can remember. Pieces pop up here and there, and I am reminded that when everything in my life was crashing down on me there was light. He was light and the warmth that radiated from him was enough to pull me through and push me forward. I remember he used to write me love notes at school, and would draw little pictures of random things. They weren’t much but they meant everything. I kept them for years and often open them up and read them and laugh at our young naive love.
When he would hold my hand I felt safe, and when we kissed it felt like my whole body was lite aflame. I remember his room and the time he forced me to watch some grotesque movie, and the more I refused the more determined he was to make me watch it. I barely remember the movie but I remember the feeling I got when fear would overtake me but he would calm my nerves. As we would watch the movie our hands would travel discovering each other in a new light. It’s insane how clumsy one can be but each touch can send shivers throughout your whole body. Those times never lasted long for his two young brothers would bust in the room and our hands would have to retreat to our own bodies. I never minded when his brothers would burst in for I loved to see frustration fill his face as he chased them around his room and out the door. Sometimes he would let them stay and they would annoy us until he would kick them out again. His eyes would come alive in those moments. Its was like you were in a deep dream and someone poured freezing cold water on you and you would wake up frustrated and cold with no one to blame but the person holding the bucket. When the dust would settle and we would be left alone I always wished I could freeze that moment. The nervous unease in his eyes and embarrassment on his cheeks. It was always a moment you could get lost in. He was goofy and loud, but also gentle and kind. As perfect as he was I would eventually break up with him out of the blue and at the time for no good reason. When looking back at that moment I realize that he was too good and I felt too good to continue. Everything was broken and that was a feeling I was used too and could understand. So I had to break the one thing that felt right in my life, so that fear of loss would go away. It was easier to pretend like we drifted and I was growing up and away from him than to take the risk that he would wake up one day and see who I was. To hide in plain sight and break everything. For it is better to break than to be broken.
I feel as if I have immortalized him in my mind to prove to myself that there is perfect beauty in this world. I would encounter him in the following years in imperfect situations. I feel as if anytime we felt doubt we would reach out to each other, until eventually I would be so far gone in my own nightmare that even reaching out hurt. The past is a tricky and fickle beast. It makes you doubt everything and then at times reassures you that the choices you made were right. I can’t say here or there on what is right or wrong but I can say that sometimes your memories arise when you need them the most. Its like your brain trying jump-start something inside you, but trying to figure out exactly what message your mind is sending you can be problematic.