Deep emotions lightly pickled


We had not been there for 2,5 months. The sun is bright. The apartment empty. As empty as we found it a long time ago. Before we started making memories there. Many memories. I said downstairs in the lobby while checking the mailbox: ‘it isn’t as bad as I feared it would be. The revisiting I mean’. Little did I know. We ascend to the first floor, entering a bare but trodden apartment. I am surprised to find some of my stuff left behind. I loose focus and I take his hand, leading him up the stairs, to our bedroom. We undress. Like we did a hundred times, a thousand times. Half close the blinds. Duvet on the floor. A rush of hormones is running through my veins. Before I know it I am all over him. And then, suddenly, I burst out in tears. Rolling from the deep, warm, unconsolable, uncontrolable. After quite some sobbing, the tide slowly alters. We make love like never before. We leave the apartment behind us, empty as is. I am fulfilled with the remnants of past hope, glory and boundless expectations that could only be countered by the chemistry of our bodies. Talking an universal language without words. Singing a song without a melody. Rocking it without rolling waves. Desperate longing without an horizon. Kept and preserved as if in hot desert sand. Not since long, just lightly pickled.

1 continental cucumber with skin, cut in half lengthwise and de-seeded, sliced in 1 cm thin half circles, preferably a bit diagonally cut, Japanese style
2 cups apple cider vinegar
1 tblspoon salt
1 tblspoon sugar
A piece of 3x3cm Kombu (Thick seaweed) optional
Find a glass jar that fits the cucumberslices

Disolve sugar and salt in the vinegar, add cucumber slices, fill up with cold water all the way to the top. Put lid on it. Shake the jar slowly, turning it upside down. Place in fridge. Ready to eat after 24 hours.

Author: Reina Hoctin Boes

I rely on e-motion. It's not about the smileys. And yet we live in a digital era where our emotions seem to be annoying attributes to life. Restrained, carefully chosen events to move our senses, are okay. We like to buy our emotions: food, dating sites, concert tickets. The fair exchange for money gives a sense of control over our emotions. Because what if, we freely open up, expose our senses on a daily basis to all that comes around? It means vulnerability. Do we really want to go there? Or do we rather read or fantasize about it? The second part of my life I wish to dedicate to the senses. And as such I'll be re-exploring reality. We say this moment is our life. What is it that this moment beholds? I reckon we haven't got a clue to find out what this moment beholds other then our five senses.

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