Arriving
N
ow I am not a writer, but I do have witty conversations about how I view life, I then set about trying really hard, for dear life, to frantically type these thoughts up in the hope that I can capture them effectively as they come to mind. We hear so much about Western, Eastern, and trust me if there were Venusian foods, we would know them by now. I am just so hopeful about the future being celebrated. What better way to say “hello! The future is bright I have ARRIVED!” than with a good meal to snuggly tuck these feelings in with? When we want to look good, we pull out all the stops, that can mean using a range from Clinique right up the ladder to our local Glen-t. The same is true of clothes. . . in my case it might be Mupedza Nhamo, popularly known as Peds Designs, the local “Sandton Mall” at Avondale flea market and for those with discerning pockets it can range from Jets to Armani. You just know that you feel good. . . you look good. . . what is left is to eat something real good and you will feel that elated feeling of pedigree as life nurtures you. It is that feeling of being in the matrix. The feeling of “Yes, I HAVE arrived” and the fantasy is always fulfilled by the display of food. You don’t “arrive” in life and suddenly celebrate by eating junk food. No offence to the fast food industry, but as its name suggests, fast is still moving, not quite settled . . . without the confidence, authority and security that immediately relax your vocal chords, slow your breathing and seduce you to relaxation. I often see too many kids at my children’s school gorging on this junk food at a critical time in their development… no fruit, no vegetables, just a freedom given to them by their parents to wreak havoc on their health. I know the unhealthy food choice can be a lifestyle… no judgments…just the usual series of tips we either choose or refuse to accept, but when you arrive, whether it be through money, new car, new job, wedding, try to remember that you must allow your “Brand clothes” to stretch when you eat. Seriously though, food is a real social club imbedded with codes of conduct to weed the unwitting, weak, those unable and social climbers out. I say this with good intentions. My grandmother would stop nothing short of telling what a waste of time you were if you delivered a bad meal; I think this was meant well. I use different language nowadays with my kids but the point is they know I cannot eat inedible food. It is as simple as that. So if you cook, it needs to be eaten, or you bear the rage and snippety looks that undoubtedly will pervade the meal. When we mispronounce words in whatever language, we have to brace ourselves for that clever little fox to snigger. That snigger can be loaded with, “you don’t fit”, “try harder” or maybe “we don’t care for that way of saying things”. Food is the same; it just has the added bonus of people actually not eating it, in full view of an unapologetic audience. There is a lot of looking