(I started thinking about this whole idea behind taking people and making a metaphor out of food while I was in the restroom so I held my thoughts and actually typed them out. :\ something I'd like to do more often)
I can't really say if its creative writing or it's my feelings towards others. It might be a mixture of both, or it might be none at all. I really need to be studying but oh well.
I have a current problem with my ramen. My ramen, that I eat not as much as Asians do but because of school eat very much, has become a distaste to me. I believe that people overall have parts of them that are distasteful, those qualities you don't want to deal with. For people it might be their attitude toward life, or their feelings toward you, but right now, my ramen burns my mouth. Hot. Blistering. When I take it out of the microwave, I have to let it sit a good ten or so minutes just to get it too cool down enough so that it can touch my lips, however, its still so hot. Even though its hot, I take spoonful after spoonful, knowing not of what to do, how to change what I believe is set in stone by the laws of radiation and some other crap about microwaves. But it wasn't always so hot. It used to be perfect.
You remember that ramen tasting so good, perfect in a sense because it was something that was new to you. A question to myself, were all people tastier before? Did they gradually get worse? Does food in general, after you've had it so much taste different than how you first had it, and does it taste worse or better. I think, that in terms of food, there is food that I've had so often that I hardly ever want it. Believe me, I love meat, love it love it love it. But when dad cooks it EVERY SINGLE DAY, it becomes tedious and I don't want to eat it anymore. When I have Crab, which is 2-3 times a year, its delicious every single time because there's been this interval between eating times. But I think that certain things don't change for me. I love pop-tarts, nasty ass pop tarts as my mom would put it, for no exceptional reason beyond they taste good. I don't eat them in bulk, heck sometimes I don't eat both from one package in a sitting, but I eat them very often and I usually don't go BLEH NO MORE. Same goes with certain drinks, my Mountain dews and even Dr Peppers are die hard for me. I also like Gatorade, whether or not its reminiscence of soccer is what makes me drink it remains to be seen. So I think that there are people, just like our most favorite foods, that don't have distaste. I can think of people that I can come back to and they, still playing the metaphor here, taste just as good as the first day I had them. I can't explain a reason, maybe because the qualities there are as close to my perfection as it can get. So when I think of the distasteful ramen I have all the time, I can't help but wonder why the ramen doesn't taste as good as the crab that is of sheer perfectness to me. Is it because I eat ramen all the time and not crab? Surely that cannot be the case; I've had constant great tasting sandwiches before. Sure, here and there there is this AWFUL meat that my mother will throw in there, making this person have an utter turnoff to me, but the sandwich is usually there, despite its basicality it does what it does well, and that person is someone I can rely on despite our differences in meats. I still have to wonder, What do I have to do to the ramen to make it the way I remember it. And, I solemnly just cannot think of how to perfect something I guess I have no control over. I have no control over that persons actions, only on my part is the ramen important to me. The ramen, I think, could care less that I want it to be less hot, less hard to cut, less difficult. But somehow, I still eat it, in hopes of it changing. I've been told by the crab, yes I talk to the crab, that we should always leave the plastic lid up for the ramen in the case that it wants to cool down. But, sometimes I wonder if that's ever enough.
Maybe my tastes have changed. I never had crab up until a couple years ago. I never liked sandwiches as much as I do now. I've even got my horticultured carrot, something I never knew of until I tasted it. Now, im happy to eat the carrot. I'm happy enough to myself that I have all these foods I can have whenever I want, along with a smorgasbord of others, I am not a picky eater, pretzels and crackers have shown me that, and it think that friends overall to me I am not picky with either. I think that those with less similar tastes than me, such as a meatloaf, can taste very good when not eaten all the time, and in fact sometimes they taste better than the reliable sandwich or even the crab. I wonder why I get so mad at ramen I used to adore. I used to respect, knowingly that it would taste better no matter how I tried to salt it with my jealously. But, to find one day that my ramen tasted ugly, awful, I had to wonder if it was me that caused it. I don't believe it is, there are several factors on the way to the microwave that might've struck it amuck. To me, its so messed up now, that I cannot even bear thinking about it without aching. My guilt gets the best of me.
However. You will not. Ever. EVER. Shove greens down my throat. Believe me. I love my green beans, my peas, my cucumbers my this and that, but those nasty greens I do not want. They remind me of me, daunting, trying to take control, saying "its good for you to eat me ill help you get stronger." And I think, are the greens really like me that much? Then I realized, that the Greens also have other things I don't have. While they seem to have more fun in their teasing life, they cause trouble. In the literal case I do believe you go to the restroom, in my metaphorical term, you change. You begin to be like the greens. The greens have that inviting hand that says take me, but really what do you get out of it In the end? Failing grades? Heartbreak? Even more distaste than before. Me and greens have never gotten along, but when pushed together, namely me, I just don't want to eat anything that would try to hurt me in the end. Greens to me would be like eating an iron nail and getting lead poisoning. I would never let that happen to myself. If the other foods want to join in greens parade, go for it. But leave me out.
Now the strange metaphor of food is done. Under the same pretenses, I just want to explain that, me and ramen, I don't want to one day and see my ramen at the bottom on the floor of the pantry, stepped on and useless. In this case, as jenny holzer puts it, exploded. What kind of freedom do we live in if we end up exploding (the chance of being blown up) at any given time? I don't want regrets. I don't want to be the, As GLaDOS puts it, the unlikable loner whose death shall not be mourned. I don't want to be angry at anyone, even the things I distaste the most, because like people, we get over their worst parts in hopes that their best parts shine. That I can taste true ramen again, that it won't be too hot, too difficult to cut, and I can be happy at lunch knowing my 30 minutes of reflection wasn't wasted.
Can someone find me my old ramen?
