It’s in the food: musings of a twenty-something lover

Of late I have been taking inventory of myself. It is quite understandable, it being the beginning of the year and my birthday having been about a month back. I will admit the past year was a pretty self-absorbed year for me, I had me on my mind quite a lot. I was supposed to write myself either a letter or a poem for my birth day as is my tradition but I did not. I think it is because I over-thought it. Maybe this time round, my birthday found me a little bit numb. I just could not write. My mind was clogged with thoughts of shockingly, myself.

I am much older than my age, I have been told. I honestly do not understand what that means, my peers and I pretty much have the same outlook on life. I do not think my way is that unique. I used to consider myself a serious hopeless romantic. There was a time I was in love with the broken, impossible, someone has to die for it kind of love. I sought it in movies, books and song. I craved it, almost got high on it. As fate would have it, I have had my fair share of this kind of emotion, usually one-sided, un-requitted but I have had it none the less. I have been so smitten that I am literally walking on air. I have felt love like an obsession to the point that I wanted to bleed it out; tears did not help, resignation was no use, love that inspired poetry, the darkest I have ever written and that brought frustration like I had never known. Reality kind of bit me in the behind. I do not remember deciding to stop being that. I do not remember choosing to be a realist, choosing the friend over the knight, it just happened. I have met people who have tickled my intellect, my emotions and just about every bit of me. I have seen these people slip me into that place of “the coolest chic they’ve ever known “and I have seen myself smile and wonder at how far I’ve come.


I have a friend who is a serious foodie. I have about three who love food beyond its ability to just fill their tummies. We shall call this particular one Baibe. Baibe loves food, I cannot even hold a candle to her love and understanding of it. It is almost a spiritual experience. I love food too, but more than I love eating it, I love sharing it. I used to love through poetry and grand gestures, I would go out of my way just to catch a glimpse of my love, whether they knew it or not. I would bend over backwards and then some. I sought ways to serve the other person, honoured to be given a chance to. I am not as sure as to whether that has changed or just taken a backseat to the current expression of my love. I think it has always been there, stifled by the more grandeur of methods and languages. The more familiar ones. Someone wrote a book and named 5 love languages. I think they might have missed out some. I love through food. I am not referring to simply sharing a meal or falling in love with people who feed me, no. It is more than that. I express my emotions through food. I carry snacks from parties and gatherings for the one on my mind because I would like them to partake of this. It is my way of saying, I was thinking of you when this was happening. I listen as people speak, I ask them what they like to eat, thinking maybe one of these days I will surprise you.

I could get you many things. I could write you a poem, a blog post or design a campaign around how amazing you are and my love for you. I could send you a song that says it a little better than I ever could (I have done that, take a hint already) or I could just tell you, every chance I get, how awesome you are. Instead what do I do? I carry for you cake from my office party, half a pack of biscuits that someone shared with me earlier, I bring this new brand of cookies that I recently stumbled upon in the supermarket and swear are to die for…I just want to feed you. It is strange that this is what I have grown into. So please don’t send me flowers, unless they are edible but a Ribena might just steal my heart.


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