On meatballs
Today (or rather yesterday, as it’s 00:05), during lunch, I was told after eating and when we were on our way to the car, that there was this child at the buffet who wasn’t allowed by her parents to eat meat balls with cream and jam, and we all that that a damn shame. They served meat balls and pancakes and more besides but apparently those were to be eaten separately almost like separate activities for some reason I don’t understand as it’ll all be mingled in the stomach; the order in which eaten makes little difference.
My aunt for some reason thought that the child would get eating disorders, but my concern was that they were putting out her creative fire and natural curiosity by forcing her to be dull and think inside the box. I further thought that the exact opposite of what a parent is supposed to do: I think a good parent will always feed the fire and encourage curiosity as she might be raising an explorer or scientist or engineer or whatever.
I thought then about this quote from Clive Barker’s Abarat books:
We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.
This I think about a lot and hold it to be one hundred percent true as I’ve had similar thoughts myself and often feel like parts of me die inside after similar encounters.