Blue Ribbon Effect

The world of dreams, that’s where I’ve always lived and still am… to think of it.

The sweet world of endless possibilities, absolutely close at hand. The pleasure of foreseeing those possibilities being formed into reality IS divine.

A realist, a pessimist, an optimist, an idealist are the ingredients for this gourmet recipe called life; you most definitely have to be all and not only one. You need all to make the most of it and serve this ambrosial delicacy.

I wanted to write a cook book once; for I thought it would be, perhaps the most valuable thing I would have ever done. I just had this concern: that I would NEVER have as many recipes to actually fill a proper cook book with.

“cook books are hefty.” I thought.

And that was when I decided to write things other than recipes. Even though, for the few good recipes I already had, I knew the PERFECT ingredients. But then again, those shall die with me, those recipes and their secret ingredients.

I had to leave the kitchen for the time being. it’s needless to say, the pain accompanied me at all times during the leave.

All the spices, the copper pots and all the whisking… the inevitable pestle and mortar. That ever-irresistible whiff of butter flowing all around the kitchen as this spiritual breeze going right through my head every single time.

Tasting all the tastes, having your taste buds, lurking out, moistened. Sweet and savory, bland and bitterly sour with just a pinch of salt.

This frenzy of fantasies swirling around my head behind the burning stove. Two, three and sometimes as many as four pots and pans, sizzling and oozing and simply boiling with love.

That final touch of aromatic herbs, sprinkled over the clouds of moist and bliss. That tiny dollop of something, like a kiss that seals.

I had to leave the kitchen, right then and there. But guess what? I had always belonged right there inside the kitchen, swiftly moving from this corner to the other, sliding with ingredients, juggling all around. Nothing could ever change this.

This was not a dream, this was life, the kitchen.

And I shall go where I belong, I shall be where I’m needed, I must exist in my existence, in my life.

I simply have to be where I belong, in my dreams.

Where I belong.

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