Eight Slices of Life, Oven-fresh From a 24 Year Old Hearth.

Cotton Candy Cake.  Never trust his words. They're only good the minute he says them. They're cotton candy basically, sweet  fluffy, clouds on  a stick. It  makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside until the moment it dissipates in your mouth and you're left with nothing but a stained tongue and a ruined appetite for dinner. Note to self, it's fruits you should be going for, healthy and easily available.

Amish Friendship Bread.  Bread will always be a source of comfort just as much as the thought that within your plane of existence, there are fellow bread lovers too. Accept the fact that you will never be known as the spontaneous one, the enter-a-room-with-one-friend,-exit-with-ten type. You are however are a firm believer of cycles and processes.  After all , friendship doesn't always mean sprinkling powdered sugar together, sometimes it's the fermentation and the thawing that leave the deepest mark.

Chocolate roll.  The end parts are the most decadent. They're also the least likely you'll eat. Because  someone took the liberty of wearing a white coat along with the privilege of  getting the first slice and getting away with  leaving the plate, chocolate icing and all,  for you , in all your brooding glory, to wash.  So go buy yourself and your father each of your favorite slices and indulge. Apparently selflessness is not genetic.

 Raisin bread. Put your foot down and mean it. "No ma, I don't like raisins. Never have. Never will.  They're desiccated and weird and they taste like everything I don't ever want to put in my mouth. Why can't you understand that?!

Chocolate chip pancakes. You'll always be a comfort, just like all those cookies you sneak into my dreary breakfast. Still sweet and homely, but' you're getting softer now,fragile.  and it scares me everyday.

Garlic Bread. Garlic makes every sensory experience complete. Funny how a tiny clove can define a dish and command your senses' attention. Note to self, work on being a garlic.
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Pepperoni pizza . So good it basically makes you dumb.  There is nothing to digest,nothing to think about  but gooey cheese and meat. A brainless food perfect on days your brain is working overdrive. It's a perfect reminder that it's  fine to just munch and be fascinated with the tendrils of mozzarella hanging between your teeth and that edible geometry

Cream puff.  Blessed be the days when it is perfectly clear  what it is that you want.

Heliotropism

His skin is summer and rough childhood. Warm and calloused, it is home.
His voice,  raspy, loud and so distinctly him that for a moment I saw his fingerprints floating in the air as he calls my name.
Ever the boisterous one, even the shyest of flora turns wherever he goes.
Flighty, down to the bone, adventure is what he constantly seeks.
In the land of snow, across the desert sand, beneath the murky fluid of his noodles
He is restless, even in his sleep
While I'm left awake, wondering where his soul could be sailing
While I'm left standing, feeling my roots crawl deeper and deeper into the earth.
Sturdy. Steadfast

Cirque du Freak : The LImb

I am split . Since consciousness grew and insights emerged, I find myself cut in half . Traversing  life, I exist  in control and  liquefied at the same time.  My hands stubbornly grasp the present and my feet are firmly planted on today's ground. Here it is happy. Here it is safe. But my head is minutes, days, years ahead of my limbs. Where my hands are steady and fisted, my head shifts through pages after pages of  meanings, death, or simply of being there, wherever that may be.  Where my feet casually strolls , my head races  towards every "what ifs"  By design , they are a unit. By design they are parts and I am their sum. Lately it has not been like such. Lately, it is all equations and rhetorics a mile a minute.   Lately , I am nothing but stiff joints.  So by the time my hands decides to cooperate and write, my head already convinced itself  that  there is truth to this claim; life is a circus. Every  tightrope situations,  cannonball dreams,  that despicable feeling of being fierce yet caged, and the  hopeful idea of stealing the show with daring grace.  Yet, my world is this makeshift tent, where I am still learning how to ride my unicycle. Balance you see, has always been my challenge.  From walking on my stubby one-year old legs to straining for the better part of my life between letting it all out and letting it all silently go. Practice is a must because falls are frequent. I trust that my safety net awaits but I know fully it could only hold on for so long. So I thread lightly with my earplugs secured to block out the rest of the world, because sometimes a simple "No !" can displace me. Still, I relish every chance I get to honestly tell about my anatomy and cannonball   dreams. In this space at least, I am a complete story.