Thebadphilosopher - Sincerely, S

It's really okay to admit you're not ready to tackle a WIP just yet. Whether it's too big, too complex, deals with themes that are mentally exhausting—whatever. It's not going anywhere.

Putting it on the shelf for a while to develop your skills/work yourself up to it and coming back when you're good and ready is Self Care 101.

Sometimes you write your heart out/ass off for HOURS and then take a step back and see you’ve only actually put out three new pages.

Ah, writing. 😩😂

Gregory House, House M.D., 1×9 // Thorned Jesus, recreation of Guido Reni's "Ecce Homo", circa 1640

Gregory House, House M.D., 1×11 // Head of Christ Crowned with Thorns, Guido Reni, 1620

An Ode to Tofu 

Tofu, glorious tofu. Splendorous, scrumptious, saliva-inducing tofu. It is the filler of my stomach, gracer of my tongue, love of my life. To spend a life without it is to not live at all.

It has a silken texture, so smooth on my tongue, like the finest satin on the body of the world's most beautiful woman. And its flavour! A baby deer's first steps, frail and wondrous and with just the slightest hint of eternity behind it.

Oh, to eat tofu. To gulp down its slippery flesh and taste its skin on my teeth. To caress its soy surface like a lover and sink my teeth into it in the throes of passion. To consume is to love, and by every deity I have ever sworn to, I love tofu.

When my lips first graced tau kwa, I thought I was in heaven. Dark as teak in braised sauce, juicy and firm and holy, it brought a tear to my eye. Fried, with its moist innards and salty, crispy exterior, I would have fallen to my knees for it. Even plain, in nothing but soup, it was majestic. 

Oh, but its dignity could not compare to tau pok's charm. Soaking up whatever it was offered, taking and taking and taking flavour from everything around it, greedy to the core. And yet, and it enters my gaping maw, it spills its guts in a waterfall of giving, filling me up with its juices.

More seductive still is tau kee. Pliant and gentle, like a virgin on her wedding day. It is silk bedsheets stained dark with lust, a noose of the finest rope. I could spend my entire life in its folds, and still yearn for more. 

And yet- There it is: Egg tofu. Love of my life, the one to whom I return to each and every time. The one who will welcome me despite my unfaithfulness. Golden brown on a hotplate, surrounded by lush salad, even with nothing to adorn it, I crave its taste. It will forever treasure me, and I it. We are two matching halves of the same whole.

That is not to say I do not love the classics, of course. Silken tofu, the renowned temptation it is, has carved out its claim to my heart with merciless delight. It is timeless, majestic in its old age, powerful and cruel in equal measure. Cladded in the red spice of mapo tofu, it holds more vitality than a thousand armies. Floating amidst miso soup, it brings out the true power of soy. It is the greatest of the tofus, and I will award it the reverence it deserves.

But then… then there is the new. The strange. The QQ tofu. Fishy and bouncy and vibrant, so different from its pureblood cousins. It's distinction is a peacock's feathers, flauntings its uniqueness in the sheer knowledge that it can out-tofu all others. I am brought to my knees before it, tasting that which neither regular tofu nor regular fishcakes could compare. 

And then there is the final mountain for me to climb: Stinky tofu. Shrouded in mystery, enveloped by its hostile scent. It awes me and frightens me in equal measure. The durian of tofus, proud and loud about its smell. The tales I have heard of it make it out to be the greatest of legends, and someday I shall feast upon it.

And when that day comes, my life will be complete. I will die happy, with the taste of tofu on my tongue. I will dream the long dream, full of fresh, plump tofu.

Tofu, glorious tofu.

“Human freedom is realized in the adoption of humanity as an end in itself, for the one thing that no-one can be compelled to do by another is to adopt a particular end.”

— Immanuel Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals