...but not really.
After four days of craving a certain korean comfort food -- one would think that living at home makes a simple problem such as this easy to remedy. one is very very severely mistaken. There were tears and tantrums involved in the process of acquiring the necessary materials and mannerisms to create the dish that would end the yearning in my tummy. Yes, I am 21, but you know how hard it is for me to give up something I've already set my heart on. At any rate -- my mommy finally made me dukboki. Yummy spicy (but not too spicy because that would be unpleasant) sticky gooey fabulousness.
After the satisfied tummy sensations superimpose themselves on the hungry sensations, my mind has a chance to express itself in utmost clarity: "like, really?"
Don't get me wrong: it's good. Perhaps even just as good as I remember.
But there's something missing. And like every other part of my life, I'm starting to realize that it has simply lost its luster. Only to reinforce that stark reality I spend my days avoiding: growing up sucks.
I'm sitting here, honestly trying to figure out what exactly I was trying to recreate - the feeling of being a child? the nonchalance of not knowing how food is made? What image of myself am I trying to invoke?
I think of myself in the third person as a child.
I guess I'm still trying to reconcile the fact that this person - who is still this routy, unmanageable little kid to me - is getting a real job, finding a real place in the grown up world, perhaps even growing up herself.
Food really is everything.