Papa Shanghai´s Takeout

All-organic weirdness

Page 28 of 34

Apple.

“Have you ever heard of the fable of the apple?”, asked the old grape. “I didn’t think so….

…. You see, a long time ago, when meadows were lush and my skin was impeccable, we all lived together in peace, side by side. The grapes, a wildly spread fruit of communicative, cheerful and bubbly sweet temptation. Our vineyards spread over kilometres! We hung together in small families, as it is still a custom now. But even though you were very close with your fellow grape family members, you knew everyone around you. Of course, there is the more posh red grape and their colourful changes throughout the year. But in the end, we all know that we come from a vine. There, to ultimately serve as a delicacy.

Our neighbours next door were, of course, the plums. A hidden fruit. They do not draw much attention to themselves and even stray away from others high in their trees. I must admit, the plums are a depressed people. They hang on, grow and grow, far away, only to decide ultimately, they don’t want to be picked! In their ripest moment, the ecstatic crowd of people waiting for them to shine, they simply fall. Fall to the ground, to be mushed by feet, animals and insects. In a mass grave of sugary leftovers, they leave their seed to possibly start the circle from new. But you see, while others brush the plums off as a unnecessarily dramatic fruit, I can understand their resentment. As I am now myself not a grape, but almost a wise raisin, I have come to realise the fault of our kind: we grow to be one of the most pleasurable things on this planet, only to suffer decay when our perfect time is missed. We cannot scream, we cannot tell: ‘Pick me! I am ripe, I am ready!’ For such is the nature of our time on this earth. Not many are blessed with a different destiny.

It is similar with an underestimated delicacy that grows in our neighbourhood, the pear. The pear is a spiteful lover, it either charms you or leaves you stung. It can be your rise or your fall. But secretly, I believe, the spite of a pear is only due to its vicinity to the main actor of my monologue, the apple. Looking similarly but being thought of as ‘low descent’, the pear vengefully has now other choice as to smite those who only stop by their tree as they mistook them for an apple tree. Only mushed into a juice their anger is lessened, silenced I would say. I am sorry for the pear, it creates its own vicious circle.

‘But my dear grape, you wise raisin, where is the apple in all of this?’ And you are right with your inquiry!

The apple, falling into the same categories as all of us, has claimed a spot that is undetected by many, yet highly prolific. It is widespread and used in many ways. It falls from the tree, is mushed and juiced and used. But throughout, it has remained with a positive attitude towards life. It knows that the moment of ecstasy will come, so it preserves its value, its sweetness and its taste. Even its health benefits are there for many weeks. Have you ever wondered why there is such little variety in plums and pears when compared to apples? The apple invigorates its final means, therefore knowing that the next generation will be saved and, human willing, even more successful than the last!

Now you wonder: ‘How are you, a grape, able to tell me this?’

Well you see, us grapes have the notion of being plenty, therefore a few of us are unnoticed. And as I am lying here, on the ground underneath you young grapes, in the muddy ground, slowly becoming a raisin, I give forward my knowledge, hoping that one of you will be there to be a raisin as well.

Therefore, the most important thing I can tell you is, that even though we wait for the moment of ultimate ripeness, sweetness and completion in life, it is what comes afterwards that defines us.

Weekly review 8.

Winter has come and my toes are cold.

It has been, without a doubt, a cold week. Hardship and reluctance were dominant, as astrologists would say. Maybe they would throw in a planetary constellation to just make it sound more reasonable. But I am not here to tell you the future, I am here to tell you the past. You know why? Because I think you are not reviewing your week enough. I actually think you don’t even review your last hour.

This is indeed a good exercise. Because, similarly to those asking star-sign-interpreting prophets, you might look here to find a closer insight into your week, my week, or even ours altogether! So my toes were freezing, how are yours? (Just kidding, I know you can’t answer). I’ll just spit out what happened.

“So hardship and reluctance you say?”, my beloved reader shouts through the aether.

I am thinking and I have to admit that it was not fair for me to say that. Reluctance, yes. But it was the same reluctance for when you have delicious leftovers from Society’s takeout, leaving them for tomorrow only to come back at 3 AM to stuff your brain with it. Believe me, I have been there.

And hardship? That too might have been, how some people say, “click bait”. I deeply regret my choice of words here and I apologise for fooling you. My hardship has been indeed comparable to the hardship of knowing that you need a delicious coffee but you know that it requires movement and sometimes even a trip to the supermarket.

So no, winter is here, my toes are freezing, but I am alright. Maybe there is a lesson here coming from all this nonsense. I will try to distill it.

Look back, see your last day, the past hour. Maybe even the week if you feel bold. Then think about, what was a thing you would first describe with, excuse my poor choice of words, “click bait”, that was not so terrible after all?

May your toes live warm and prosper!

Weekly review 7.

“The reason I stopped is not important in this context”

“I do believe that it is, though. I mean, why would anyone start something if there was not intention of finishing? I mean, even life, which by the way is given to us involuntarily, has a finite number of days. Eternal life is yet to be discovered! So why would you think that it’s not important to reflect on the very reason you stopped doing something?”

Such is the way things roll around sometimes, my dear friends of the takeout. Often, we reflect on reasons. Try to make sense of something, give meaning to another things. Justify, deflect, accept, deny, reminisce. So what if me and you just do not find a reason right this moment. Why you are reading this very text? Doesn’t matter. Why I wrote it? Even less important!

Maybe, if the impetus of a motivation or reasoning behind something is missing, we truly let creativity unleash. Maybe we would just stare blankly into the room. Maybe we fall asleep? What an exciting exercise. As a matter of fact, I am trying the exact same thing now.


Last week I have learned something.

(What a stylistic caesura by the way)

When following a certain motivation of an action, we sometimes get lost in our way of doing it. True freedom only takes over when the task or whatever is there to be done is, at least, treated equally. More specifically, the task (or whatever) is given agency. What if we were to give it full agency?

As it is late Sunday and I have eager audience waiting, I’ll leave you with a mental exercise of sorts. So my dear friends of Papa Shanghai, in the name of all-organic weirdness, think of this:

How would the plates liked to be washed?

How does the laundry want to be folded?

How does the onion want to be cut?

Weekly review 6.

I have recently parted. Life has a strange way of making connections only to disolve them later on. As buddhist philosophy would say, everything is only on the surface of this earth for a while. Further, it would add that the attachment and denial of said fact is indeed the cause of suffering. For many, detachment is a hard thing to do, myself included. If that were to be different, we would all have achieved buddhahood.

So while I am reflecting on my parting, I reminisce and think about what has been attached to me and how I got attached to it. I see situations, small gestures. A peculiar way of talking, a laugh. Maybe it is a way of lighting a cigarette, maybe just the way someone stirs their coffee with a spoon. It all counts for something, not just attachment. So when I am thinking about this, am I attached? Well, I would argue, for the sake of reaching a higher level of enlightenment, that I am indeed not attached. Am I guilty of being trapped in the pitfall of the three noble truths?

As I go about my daily life, I am surprised. For the first time, I am seeing mirages, a Fata Morgana of sorts. Just in passing, I am remined of that laugh, that one beanie. It is a strange feeling to realise departure, even more so, when it involves a whole social circle. But analogous to buddhist mentality of passing thoughts during meditation, I too see, accept and agree to the passing. Is this not what it should be about?

So, for old times sake, wherever you are, light that cigarette your way, wear the beanie, laugh one more time, walk your own walk and talk the way you do. Maybe it will reach me, maybe not. Maybe it will reach the next person, one will never know. I will see you soon.

Fridge.

In some cases, she swore that it would get easier. For what it’s worth, her friends did not see the struggle that she was, and still is, trying to hide. Many years ago, there was someone that could see through her, see all the angles and the layers.

A mouth, two knees, hair.

She started to be embarrassed and overwhelmed with the fact that someone else might have a clearer understanding of the internal workings that she has been trying to discover and untangle herself. She felt betrayed, cheated. “How could this have happened to me?”, she asked while feeling that cold breeze all throughout her body.

A nail, two index fingers, water.

The most terrifying aspect of it was the calmness that came with the assessment. Piercing though the noises of her thoughts, everything seemed clear. And while she did not fully accept all attributions fully, she knew that the knowledge behind it was preceded by and endless steam of thoughts.

A heart, two kidneys, hormones.

She calmed herself with the thought that the assessment process might take up more stress, horror and sleepless nights than to endure the verdicts that were passed onto her every day. It might be that an inclination to observe and judge is deeply rooted in insecurity and the overwhelming feelings that surround the juror. Maybe she is just calming herself down. Who knows.

A human. A fridge. Desire.

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