Thoughts on the taste of pickled plum


On the bike trip, Okasan and I bought rice balls for lunch.  They were wrapped entirely in seaweed paper, so I had no idea what was inside.

The first one was filled with tuna-a favorite filling of mine.

The second, however, was pickled plum-a shockingly pink, shockingly sour/sweet taste.  With each bite my tongue argued with itself.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this garish new flavor.  It was at once perfect and too much.

I think that’s what my life is like.

As hard as I try, I realize that my life never has been, never will be normal.  You who know me know this all too well .  There is rarely an in-between to my moods or my situation, and (though sometimes I desperately wish there was) I am learning to appreciate this.  It’s still scary, but at least now I know what I need to do: learn to turn each bite of my life over on my tongue, to allow myself to embrace the sour and marvel at the sweetness.


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