I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, peeling a pile of onions for the onion soup, and as the pile of peeled and chopped onions gets larger and the air over my head thicker with onion tear gas, I wonder how onions with such humble backgrounds and foul emissions secured themselves a solid seat on the international cuisine board. Who would have thought?
I wonder that about people too, humble backgrounds, foul emissions, secure seats. I wipe an onion tear.
The house is covered in a thick layer of dust and lint. I don't see it all week until Saturday morning. That's when everyone in the house kinda flops over the finish line after the 40-hour marathon of business and professionalism; We finally make it over the line of WEEKEND, we drop and when we finally raise our heads and look around, we notice every possible surface is covered in clothes, washed, to be ironed, unfolded and worn. The kitchen is tired. I slowly plan the weekend menu. Reunite with the local community through the weekly exchange of money for bread, vegetables, meat and coffee for M, trying in vain to cheer his tired face up. I do more rounds of laundry than we have space for drying, check on the plants I neglected all week & rate their resilience. Life is cosy, dusty & familiar on the weekends.
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