Category: Uncategorized

For Us Who Love Food

It’s no secret that I enjoy eating. Anyone who spends quality time with me will quickly find out that I like food. I enjoy learning about food – cuisines, techniques, symbolism, the science, everything! I can read a NYT article written by a food critic, watch Alton Brown discuss food science, meander through YouTube how-to and be captivated by an Instagram story presenting a 15s montage of creating a dish. I’m curious about food and I’m uneasy by the amorphous cloud of condescension that blankets the food world. I’m striking out in this post to ask myself why I feel bad and then tell myself to just enjoy food as I enjoy it.

I’m not the best cook, although I can make a good dish. I’m not a baker as it requires an attention to detail that I find suffocating. What I am is a food traveler who enjoys the atmosphere created by food, especially when it comes to learning how other ethnicities engage with food, however at times I feel as if I am off-kilter with the rest of the popularists in the food world. I don’t go in for delicacies that I find off-putting even though this country seems to think if you don’t eat those types of dishes, you’re intolerant. I won’t try everything. I cannot wax rapturous about tofu, but I can talk about how amazing fried pono is! I don’t have a personal garden on my balcony of fresh vegetables and fruit from which I procure ingredients for a hastily thrown together salad or sauce that transforms the eater’s taste buds, although I find it admirable if others do and understand the difference in taste that it makes.

There are many dishes and combinations that renown chefs enjoy, but that I don’t – a fact that has made me feel as if I’m not cut out for the food world (which in and of itself is an odd thought since we all eat and are technically part of the food world, just go with me on this). I can’t get down with Gyeranjjim and I believe that seasonings and spices don’t destroy the taste of food, but enhance. That should be okay. In fact, it should be more than okay, it should be perfectly fine, so why do I feel pressured because I like spicy foods rather than plain dishes? Somewhere, it’s been subtly accepted that food people need to be a certain way.

The wine I enjoy, Moscato, is looked down upon as not being “good enough”. I am a fan of plum and peach wines who have their origins in Asia (China, particularly), but I won’t take a glass of Chardonnay or Pinot Noir and I have yet to taste a champagne that I find palatable. I like what I like. What I don’t, I don’t. On my one and only trip to London to spend Thanksgiving with my brother and his family, he shared with me the goodness of this particular German wine. It was delicious, but it was the only one that wasn’t a Moscato that I have ever found pleasing. Oenophiles, and “foodphiles” alike, all have this tendency to tell everyone just how amazing x is without considering if the person wants to know, or cares to know. They forget that other people may not give one jot about tannins or in my case, orange juice – and it’s okay. I am not a fan of American chain restaurants and have made a face at one or two occasions when the suggestion of a group lunch or dinner at Applebee’s has been made. If I have offended anyone, please forgive me, I never meant to be overbearing.

So what was I doing then? I wanted others to try other things. Simple. I don’t mean bone marrow (although we used to eat that as children and it was mighty tasty, so I don’t know how it’s a fad now), but a dish that seems palatable but is not known by them. That’s all. Let’s push the door open just a bit so we can put our toe in, and if we find that we don’t like it, we can walk away. I’ve suggested and others haven’t wanted to even put a toe in. That too, is fine. I have eaten Ethiopian food at a funeral, at someone’s house and at restaurants and every single time, I have been sick. Even the smell of Ethiopian food makes me sick. I don’t know why. I wish I enjoyed it because there is so much of it in this region, but I can’t. I’ve given it multiple tries, only to find myself bent over with my face in the sink vomiting and curled over holding my abdomen from the cramping, so if someone doesn’t want or like a cuisine, I let them be. In the words of my friend, Bryan, “I get it”.

But I have my own food superpower. Even without eating at a certain establishment, I have been able to choose restaurants whose dishes were mighty tasty. How? It’s a gift, and like all gifts, it’s given to you as is. I can’t explain it, but I have an eye. It’s been evident during this pandemic as I Doordash friends and family from restaurants I’ve never been to, only to have them exclaim in their texts just how good the food was and how in the world did I find it? I shrug, smile and beam. It’s a gift, I say. A gift from God. When I feel as if I could never host a tv show because I’m not like the others, I remember that I have my own gifts and my own relationship with food.

So if you’re reading this, (thank you), and, let’s all enjoy what we enjoy. No more feeling pressured to like this or that, to eat this and not that, to feel bad if we wax poetic or not about an ingredient or a meal. I like my friend Nia’s grilled cheese sandwiches. My mommy, who has been gone nearly half my life, made an amazing okra stew with crab that will never be replicated. My husband makes the most mouth-watering soups and stews. My Mama J can pull together a meal of eggplant, spinach, peppers and kobe with boiled plantain that will have me skipping down the street. I will tear up some DiGiorno’s pizza that I have smothered in Rao’s pizza sauce and extra cheese. Every so often I’ll eat Korean noodles every day for a week accompanied by kimchi and dumplings. I put peanuts in my cereal and crush ginger snaps into my ice cream.

And I’m okay with it.

The Power of Human Engagement

Feeling off-kilter, I decided to go to the balcony and sweep the leaves off the artificial turf that covers the wood slats, clean up the plants and then spend some time praying. As I started sweeping, I heard intro-1568386995the familiar greeting of our next door neighbor. Preoccupied with my own feelings, I had not thought he would be there but there he was, hailing me from his large first floor backyard patio. We chatted about the unwanted hijinks of the people who camp on the other side of the street, turning it into a highway rest stop of sorts – doling out cards, arguments, hawked items and drugs and our efforts to inform the metropolitan police department about their dangerous presence. Throughout, I kept sweeping the dead leaves fallen from the force of the recent rains, pulled dying leaves off the citronella and cayenne plants and rearranged the plants. From this our conversation meandered through politics, the fires out west, #45’s stupidity, the world supply chain and the twilight zone of virtual reality that we find ourselves in. From time to time, the loud surging sounds of the onrushing metro or the noisy clanking rattle of semis hauling materials back and forth to the depot a little ways away from us interrupted the flow of conversation but for the most part, we talked constantly. Laughter punctuated the air as we traded realizations and shook our collective heads about the state of the world.

Our time ended because he had to go to the bathroom. After trading farewells, I turned to take the three steps back into the apartment feeling full and calm. Unlike the peculiar sensations that wrack me after a virtual interaction, I feel only a placid contentment. This – this is what I am missing. I was never tired nor disengaged. My mind didn’t wander. I felt a part of something – perhaps the greater intangible sense of human connectivity that cannot be defined without it become something less than what it is. wellbeing-01-1The powerfully healing connecting that positive human interaction – devoid of virtual constraints – brings to bear on the disconnected soul.  The way it gently pulls you away from the worrisome, self-contained, mundane thoughts that run through your mind to see outside of yourself, releasing you from the entanglements of judgment calls, pressures of personal goals and analytic machinations which define our worlds. I experienced non-familial, genuine human interaction unsullied by fears of contagion or unduly hurried by time restrictions, when I most needed it today.

Two neighbors with a long acquaintance, talking about life. Real people. Unplanned, unexpected interaction. Pleasant life-affirming conversations. Good energy. It indeed is not good for man to be alone.

Post-Zoom Call Blues

0848a1c9ba68f48cb88318d49a327ef8So help me understand this strangeness: at some point during any Zoom call, I suddenly become tired but when the call is over I feel oddly bereft. Whether or not I’m looking forward to the call is a non-factor in the sudden onset fatigue that hits me at some point during the call, followed by a disengaged mind. It takes me a few minutes to even realize that I’ve disconnected from the call, but once I do, I may or may not re-engage my mind at that moment. Nevertheless, when the call is over, I have this immediate sense of being deprived of something good. 

What at all, is this? Where does the fatigue come from and why is it so sudden? I can tell the exact moment when I am “over it” and whatever energy I have dissipates. Poof! Physically present but mentally checked out. The very act of sitting there, staring at a screen, knowing that people are there but not feeling their energy is bizarre. It’s fish bowl weird. You’re staring. They’re staring. You’re not experiencing their presence, their vibe – all the million and one feelings that you absorb from being around them. The warmth of their gaze, the passion in their voice, or the length of their arm reach. It feels strangely hollow. 

I’m wondering if it has anything to do with the general lack of mobility inherent in this pandemic. images (2)Somehow movement has a way of fueling itself. Newton’s first law states that “a body at rest will stay at rest until a net external force acts upon it and that a body in motion will remain in motion at a constant velocity until acted on by a net external force.” So is this it? Are we all experiencing a metaphysical manifestation of Newton’s law? Robby Huang from Adventure Archives talks about this during a hiking trip – how much energy it takes to do nothing; that doing nothing can be more draining than doing something. 

And of the peculiar feeling of having lost something after the Zoom call is ended, what do we say? Shall I hazard a guess that some interaction is better than none at all? Although the impersonal nature of virtual engagement leaves much to be desired, it is still engagement. While millions of people are on zoom calls ad nauseam, millions of others are not. A few zoom calls a week for work, a couple for family and friends but hours by ourselves. For those of us with spouses who are essential, our time with them takes up just a few hours a day (or worse, a week) with the rest of the time gaping before us. Zoom calls can become a very real source of human interaction. 

I have been on livestreams for groups that I follow, enjoying the conversations until the session ends, wondering if anyone else would love to continue chatting. I wonder if anybody else feels a happy attachment to those types of conversations? It’s communal interchange with no particular agenda – free-flowing conversations where anything can be said. It’s much closer to our pre-COVID19 meetings and meetups than the regimented flows on work Zoom calls. 

I should feel boosted and energized after these calls and for a little while I do but then I am hit with a keen sharpness – a distinct sense of being severed from a thing.  

images (3) Am I the only one? 

Productivity

Why is it that although I am on vacation this week AND today is Labor Day (an official holiday), I felt the need to be DUN DUN DUUUUN PRODUCTIVE? It wasn’t until after I decided to cook beef and shrimp jollof and download Norton Antivirus on my mac that I felt as if the day wasn’t wasted?

What would it be like to not feel uneasy on days when I am not scratching off a checklist of tasks? Watching a series of funny nerd videos doesn’t feel right unless it’s balanced with a chore? Is it because I’ve always used rest and relaxation as a reward for accomplishing tasks that were at best annoying and at worse onerous?

I don’t like this feeling of unease – as if I am hiding from my responsibilities. There are always chores. Laundry is forever. Sorting through clothing to donate items is always a ghost checklist item – haunting the edges of my mind. Vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom, mopping the kitchen floor are repetitious tasks that must be done whether I do it once or five times. And how is it that the bathroom sink gets so dirty so fast? Is it the water that leaves the spots on the faucet? I mean daaaang! Come on mayne, I just wiped you two days ago!

opportunity-cost-definition-393313-FINAL-06131b369c8e4acdbc81d996f20cf4cbI don’t know how to break the hold that a certain type of being productive has on me. The only times that I can indulge in movies or funny sketches without some guilt is when I am utterly wiped. At any other time, I have this opportunity cost meter ticking and weighing my actions inside my head. Opportunity cost is the only definition from my undergraduate Microeconomics that I remember. The New Oxford American Dictionary defines it as “the loss of potential gain from other alternatives when one alternative is chosen.” It’s what I miss out on when I choose one particular action over the other, so in this case, by watching funny sketches by CalebCity, I lose out on spending time reading some psychiatric articles. On the other hand, I laugh more; which is a higher benefit to me because laughter is in such short supply these days. 

Additionally, this pandemic got us all off-kilter! Alex Baia’s article in the New York Time aptly and hilariously sums up much of our ennui, ambivalence and panic all at once! We’re all puttering around our homes attempting to live our best lives while unwittingly losing our sense of time, duty, purpose and responsibility. 

So here I am, feeling a bit better because I’ve pushed this idea out of my head but also wondering if I have done it justice. Either way, I’ve written SOMETHING reflective today AND there have been no gun shots fired on my street so, blessings right?

Happy Labor Day!

Kodawari

I feel as if I have so much to say but then when I sit to write it, nothing compelling comes to mind. Is it because it’s been swirling in my mind for so long that it doesn’t seem new – doesn’t seem fit to publish? Part of me thinks that I should be documenting the daily oddities and thoughts that flow in and out of my mind while the other part thinks I should just watch another YouTube documentary.

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In fact, yesterday, I watched “What’s the Cost of Being the Hardest Workers in the World? | Deciphering Japan”. They reviewed that uniquely Japanese concept of Kodawari – the relentless and uncompromising pursuit of perfection – that fascinates me. I don’t know of any other ethnic cultures for whom such a concept is a basic tenet of their cultural ethos, certainly not in America. On one hand, I can understand how that single-minded devotion to perfection could become unhealthy, exhausting and mentally stagnating in terms of broadening your thoughts but at the same time, could it be freeing? You choose one area to focus on – whether it be coding, cooking, comics or carpentry and you devote countless hours of thought, talk and tooling to it. And because you live in a country that understands and even honors that, you don’t feel weird for it. Either you meet other enthusiasts of your craft or those who are as grounded in kodawari as you so there’s no shame, no weirdness, no feeling out of place. You can fuss, focus and fuel yourself with the pursuit of perfection in that industry without fear of misunderstanding if you choose not to go out, not to engage with others, not to become beholden to the needs of others. After all, you’re seeking the best of the best so that others may know the love in you for that thing, service or person.

Lest you think I am myopic, I am fully aware that this concept, while Japanese in definition, is not shoyu-ramen-de-sardineexclusive to the Japanese. Kodawari is found around the world in millions of people, however, it is not as whole-scale beloved as it is in Japan. Nowhere else in the world is this concept embedded as deeply or revered as much as it is in Japan. Nowhere will you find it heralded as much as in Japan. Developing “a mind-set of determined and scrupulous attention to detail, motivated by a sincere passion and self-discipline; knowing that some of these efforts will go unrecognised“a is as Japanese as pacifism is Ghanaian and individualism is American.

I don’t have a trade or industry that I work tirelessly in unless you consider curiosity about how people’s culture impacts them and vice versa. I have interests that stem from my curiosity about people, their interactions and their effects on one another. This has led me to learn about people’s cultural heritages – exemplum primi the fact that I was watching this video in the first place – and how the guiding principles of those groups in turn creates tidal waves of power, influence and change. I don’t seek perfection in an industry either. I am shifting away from this concept of perfection because it has not served me well. I don’t know what perfection looks like for someone like me – a seeker. Perhaps that is the essence of what I do – that there is no perfection. There is only the seeking of more and more knowledge; the sniffing, pouncing and tracking of ideas as they present themselves before me.

a https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20190124-seven-words-that-can-help-us-to-be-a-little-calmer

Still Waking Up

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of slow morning routines. What must it be like to open your eyes to a new morning, stretch languidly in your bed and slowly allow yourself to come to full consciousness as the soft rays of sunlight fall gently on your face. Finally, you rise gracefully from bed, plod to the bathroom for your morning ablutions before returning to slip into some comfortable pajamas and a soft robe. Prayers over, journalling done, you lean back in your chair as you partake of a delicious breakfast with a newspaper beside you. Or perhaps you take your breakfast outside in your backyard, breathing in the delicate fragrances of blooming flowers and plants as birds chirp their morning greetings. Breakfast done, reading done, you center yourself in the morning’s beauty all before you make your way out of the door to dress for work or back through the house to your home office.

Imagine this kind of morning every day.  Imagine this kind of purposeful routine every day. A routine without hurry.

Back-garden-July-12th-2

 

Blossoming

I realize that somewhere along the line, I lost sight of my essence. For many reasons the essence of who I was, was never allowed to express itself in all of its uniqueness. I was forced to create a duller, more acceptable version of myself although the real me often shown through the cracks. I’ve been so scared of the real me because it is so very different – so ALIVE, so INTENSE.

Now, as I return to and explore the me I was meant to be, I sometimes find myself second-guessing myself; worried that I will be “too much” – my excitement for life, my exuberance for existing, my pleasure in creativity, even the timbre of my voice has been attacked for its power and strength. I worry that I will be “too much” for those whom I truly admire and love.

Part of me is angered for having to confine myself to societal norms. Part of me is saddened that I am even in this situation (questioning who God created me to be). Part of me just wants to live and be and breath – in all the wonder that is in me. I realize that part of my chronic fatigue is secondary to a life-long repression (by myself and by the struggles and sorrows of this world) of the radiant joy that resides in me. So here I am.

Finally beginning to understand that the nagging sensation that “this isn’t how life is supposed to be” – dry, depressing, dark, damaging – isn’t weird or wrong. It’s the truth that I’ve known all along. I don’t want to subdue myself anymore. My whole being is tired of being less than…. I need us to live. Live abundantly. Live and experience all that life has to offer – in a transparent, kind, caring and profound way. A way that honors this gift that we call life and God – the Giver of that Life.

And even if the world is not ready for me, even if YOU aren’t ready for me, well, I’m gonna learn to be okay with that. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs what I’m about to birth in order not to die.

What has existed must not limit what shall exist!

1-blossoming-amaryllis-flower-tilen-hrovatic

2K19

I face the new year with nothing but myself. I have no high hopes or great expectations. I am not encumbered with resolutions or regret. 2k18 taught me to honor my humanity, respect my frailty and recognize my fragility.

I don’t long for some great experience or great movement to shake the heavens for blessings to fall. I face each day quietly. It is only a day after all. Anything can happen. No longer running on fumes, I am conscious of walking – first the lift, then the heel strikes followed by that meaty part of my foot before the toes engage to push me off again.

I don’t want anyone else’s life. I can’t afford to compare. I can’t dwell on regrets or past hurts. I have no time for pettiness or ill will. It’s been all flushed out. Frankly, I don’t have the energy to interact with such things and those people for whom drama is their middle name.

It is a quietness that I have embraced. The quiet of the day-by-day. If I find happiness today, then so be it. If sorrows haunt my thoughts, I will not self-flagellate. I have long battled. Even this year I fought against accepting that I could not force myself to be more than I was. The fatigue. The sorrows. The pain. The frustration. I could not fight them. I laid down my weapons.

I stopped. I surrendered. Told God He had to be God. I wasn’t trying anymore.

It’s better this way. I’m not fighting to keep the mask. I’m not struggling to make myself happy. My honesty with myself is my gift to myself.

It’s New Year’s Eve.

And I’m still breathing.

 

My Own Holiday Movie

My belovèd is finally with me. After two years of being situated on two different continents, we’re finally together. This will be our second Christmas together. After decades of singleness, I was so excited to have the opportunity to do holiday things together! I’ve been searching online for various concerts, markets and exhibitions.

DCholidaymarket-56e09bf85f9b5854a9f8553cThis weekend there will be a flurry of markets and I asked him if he wanted to go. He returned with a resounding “no” and to add insult to injury, that he didn’t have time tomorrow for such things.

Did you hear that?

That was the sound of my hope being popped.

All these years of watching holiday movies where couples dressed in warm winter gear hold cups of hot cocoa and admire various wares created by artistic types got me revved up. I figured this would be a great way to start our Christmas festivities!

But, well, it looks like I’ll be going to these markets solo or with friends, which in and of itself isn’t bad at all. Not everyone enjoys these sorts of activities and it’s quite cold so even I shudder a bit at being outside BUT it’s the season and I want to do something new and different!

IMG_20161126_203050A few years ago when I was in London, I attended their Christmas in Hyde Park and it was FANTASTIC! The park is huuuuge enough to accommodate multiple rides, tents, food areas, you name it! I had my first mulled cider and a very tasty sausage!

So, instead of moping around throwing dirty looks at belovèd, I’m going to be intentional and proactive and happy my own dang self!

I I think tomorrow afternoon I’ll head over to a market close by. Who knows? Maybe after all the pictures and instastories that I’ll post, belovèd will change his mind? Even if he doesn’t, I’ll still have a jolly good time! And you know what? I’ll peruse as many holiday markets as I can!

 

 

Dream Sequence

dreamsBetween August 10 and August 11th of this year, I slept. During the night I dreamed – as I have been doing since I was born – and as one who vividly remembers her dreams (not a great superpower), I woke up with these words ringing in my ears; powerful, energetic words that were flowing from my mouth into the space between us.

You have been given only one day. 60s in one min. 60m in one hr. 24 hrs in one day. Time is limited. Breaths are limited. You do not have an infinite resource of time to be alive in this plane, on this earth. At some point you will die. But the grace and mercy of an unlimited God has given you the capacity to possess an unlimited amount of time with Him, after your limited time on Earth has passed. From finite to infinite. The only question is where you will spend that unlimited time.