Bowl Fight

Intense sensory exploration is how I interact with the world. A full commitment of emotion to my lover, mother, and brother. Devotion to the craft, I must eat, sleep, breathe them. I do or do not, there is no try. My dedication, convictions, and unwavering trajectory to the stars above allows me to mauver through life not only in pure intention, but with ruthless success. I see what I want and I take it, no matter if my eyes fall upon the rational or the absurd. My vision is emotional, only I know what is true to me. This is my deadliest weapon, and while I have “accomplished” much because of it, I often find myself with silly habits. No, not habits, but how I choose to live my life. Intense sensory experiences are for the love of the game.

If you have dined with me, you know my love for hot sauce, peppers, and the general kick. I have never trembled before a Thai five (before the meal at least), nor do I practice moderation when dosing my bowl of Pho or plate of eggs with chili oil. Don’t get me wrong, I never seek the suffering that bites me time to time, but to live on the cusp of life you will take a tumble or two. It is not the pain, but the head-high. The tingly nose. Clear sinuses and my mind at its razor finest. Most of all, it is the bowl fight. No longer is food purely for nutrition, but it's a vehicle to understanding myself in a state of fight or flight. It is only these moments of heightened emotion and sensory overload that my food becomes not only a medley of pleasurable substance to feed my basic needs, but a transcendental experience that nourishes my soul.

In a parallel sense, I have a complicated relationship with running because of the intensity of my interaction with the sport. In a mere matter of moments into running, my monkey brain goes bananas. I run, then faster, then faster. I pass everyone, for all is a race, and if no one is about, I press harder. One of my runs ended in a hospitalization by running much too hard, for much too far. I depleted every ounce of my life energy, not leaving an ounce for recovery, resulting in a trip to the emergency room for an IV saline drip. I think I will stick to skiing for now, thank you very much.

The list goes marching on, many of which I am certainly oblivious. Boiling hot showers (if anyone knows of long-term negative side effects, please let me know). My pressing nature. The hottest and most humid days out East, in my AC-less studio. All the fights I have every had. All the mistakes I have ever made. May the lord forgive me for my sins of the past, present, and future. We are all fixated on this coin toss, as and the silver sliver reaches the height of its arch, we know the truth. Many root for heads, they love the pleasure of a little spice or an afternoon jog. Others hold their breath for tails, they prefer to take life back a little and chill. But wait, there is a third side to the coin. The coin’s edge, it may strikes the table first. Never will it settle on its edge, but for a fleeting instant we may indulge in the perfection of it all. Oh, the beauty of fragility! A young Peony blossom dies fast, a kitten quickly fades into cathood. For me, it is the moment of clarity I experience after the habanero or the rush of euphoria that encompasses all when I pass the next runner, that was, ahead. The effort-to-reward ratio may be questionable, but for me, I am all in. All those miles and pain, life and death, heads and tails. To exist in a place of pressure, to live for perfection, is to fail. And fail hard. The stars are at cost for the upper boundaries of our lives may only be explored through an existence of failure and suffering. All you can do is to shine on, but don’t look back.