the dance of the ink riddled fingers

the same kind of different

Posted in epiphany tiffany, handfuls of ambition, thought spills by enisea on 10/04/2012

I had it this afternoon. It’s a chinese medicinal soup made essentially of ginseng, dried goji berries and red dates. A perculiar concoction that smells comforting, ends bitter, and has a middle hint of sweet and salty.  As I child I used to scrunch up my face at the smell of it, wait til the soup had cooled and hold my breath (and or nose) as I gulped down a mouthful and a half at a time – cupping the bowl to my mouth.  Amusingly, I’d heave in a deep gasp after each swallow as though the stuff nearly drowned me and once finished, shiver dramatically, knock back a glass of water to rinse the liquid from my memory and leave in haste.

Now, I’ll admit the stuff has grown on me. Sort of like most of the things that are good for us in life – the good stuff grows on us as though repetition beat down our resistance because we realised that what we were adversed to was simply preferential, but the essence of it was healthy.  I’ll name a few – none of which I am claiming at all to practice regularly or be good at, but it’s something that I think we need to realise is rather healthy: talking listening to stubborn people, trying to convince a selfish kid not to be selfish without getting frustrated, doing what your parents nag about at a really inconvenient time, taking the onus over a shared disappointment, defending a person you don’t agree with just because it wasn’t right for them to spoken of at the time, giving that other person the last of the best dessert, encouraging a person when you knew both them and you could’ve done better had an ounce of thought be invested in preparation, forgiving the person immediately who took too long to forgive you of the lesser offense… the list goes on.

And the funny thing is… that the more we do it, the less annoying it gets and the more it intrigues and the more it goes down well.  I took the time to observe the soup today.  I’ve never done it before, really sat down, exploring it purposefully and slowly.  One might observe of pattern: the more it fascinates, the more one’s inclined to like it.  I’ll use the first example, I used to find talking to old people… annoying – because they never understood.  I forced myself to hold conversation when spoken to (because Asian culture is big on respect), and little by little I learned – that the case was quite probably difficult because I never understood.  So once I figured that out, I tried to understand and it made old and/or stubborn people so much more intriguing.  Not as subjects of a study that one pities, but as different and beautiful people that we are expected to accept – because we are all the same, kind of different.

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