Acceptance

I have this habit of being hungry before I eat. No merit: it's an automatic habit. I, like my father, eat whatever is there. Leftovers, burnt edges, rotten bananas. I cut what's rotten, I eat the rest. No merit: that's what he taught me to do: to never, ever waste. Chilli wasn't around when I learned to eat, though. It came much later. And it keeps coming. But I was raised in such a place, in such a way, by such people that I could never adjust to it.

When I first went out to the big wide world, and travelled far away, chilli turned my eating-when-hungry habit into a struggle. Then I came back to where I was raised, but the big wide world was already here and chilly wasn't going anywhere. I'm hungry and I try to eat, but it hurts and the habit that once helped me to please my dad became a maladjustment to my present reality. 

I'm writing this because when you cook, sometimes you add chilli thinking that I won't notice, but I do. I'm hungry, the food you've cooked with so much care is in front of me, but it hurts. Then, for a short while, nothing makes sense. I can't understand why you'd do that, why sometimes it has to be this way. I get annoyed and frustrated. Then you say I'm ungrateful and you're right and I understand that once again you thought it was going to be mild, and I apologize. It's okay, you say. But it's not, cause you'll do it again. It's not, because you like it. You like chilli and I don't. You cooked and I didn't and you have every right to like and add chilli to everything you prepare. And I know deep down it's all me and my maladjustment.

I'm trying to change my ways so I can fit better into this reality where my dad is not around, but chilli is. Heaven knows I'm trying my very best. But I've hit a brick wall here because chilli might be edible, but it's not food, actually. And we have real food, you know? Like tomatoes and bananas, and my father taught me to feel grateful for having it and guilty for throwing it away. And that's what happens when I'm faced with precious food sprinkled with hot pepper powder: that goes to waste. I'm not sure I can or should adjust to chilli. 'Acceptance!' my new inner thunder voice says. 'Oh, c'mon! So now acceptance is about swallowing knives!?' my old whining voice replies.

Why can't acceptance be choosing food over firecrackers? Why can't the world ACCEPT ME for once and understand that I'm hungry and I just want to eat in peace? I don't want minced glass on my plate. I don't need a sensorial roller coaster when I'm hungry. Enough roller coasters I've already been served in this life. Isn't acceptance to simply admit I'm late to the chilli-lovers party!?'

'You are not late. Others made you late. You're still on time,' the new voice says.

'I don't want to be on time! Can't you see I don't even want to be at that party?' 

'Fair enough,' the acceptance voice says.

'Sorry, what?' 

'Don't eat chilli ever again, if that's what you want.'

'Yes!' I say

'Fine.'

'Hold on a second, how do I do that?'

'By making a habit out of cooking for yourself. That way you'll make sure hunger doesn't ever catch you in front of a chilli-flavoured meal.'

'But I don't cook on weekdays!' my old whining voice strikes again.

'So you are demanding from others what you don't care to give to yourself? I thought we'd already been through this...' my new acceptance voice fades away in a sigh.

'Shite!' 

So, I guess I'll have to cook daily now. This acceptance thing sure comes at a price.

'Hey! Don't you mistake me for Resignation!' the thunder voice roars back. 'I'm not good or bad, I'm not south or north, I have no shores. I am just what I am.' 

'Got it.'

'You sure?'

'Mhm.'

'Okay, now you know your choices: occasional chilli without complaints or complaint-free daily cooking. And remember: you're not what you feel. You can control it. Bye for now, then.'

You know what, chilli eaters? I love you and I won't stop you from chewing firecrackers because I know roller coasters can be fun. I know it because my dad used to love them. I think of you, dad. I'm a bit like you, dad. You live in me, dad. But I'm going to try my best to handle life even better than you from now on.