Spoon Me

A request to my loved ones

I want to be wrapped up in the arms of the great loves of my life forever. Did you know the part of the spoon that holds the food is called a bowl? It’s where I would rest all the love I’ve accumulated over the years. I’d wait eagerly to bite it all. Scoop it eagerly into my mouth. Let it hit the front of my mouth first. Coat my tongue with it moving the warm love from front to back drowning my taste buds. My neurons would fire saying “Oh, we are being fed”. I can feel the glee sopping through my bones.

Harvesting

I’ve been watching them toss around the phrase “loneliness epidemic” for a while now. They pretend the epidemic comes from nowhere. That it is not the blossoming seed of years of disgusting farming practices:

• a perpetual underfeeding of the crops (poor funding of social services and spaces for communities to engage for free)

• shitty manure (the worst food and health services)

• lack of nutrients in the soil (suffering of public health due to misinformation)

• no space to grow (a voidness of hope as we see the rolling back of “progressive laws”)

• poor sunlight (have you felt the heavy exhaustion when you are vitamin D deficient?)

How can you cultivate a society sans loneliness if every facet of the cultivation is rotten? I whisper to myself that I must be the one in charge of my well-being. Governments have other concerns at the moment. I whisper to myself I have to tell my family too. I whisper it online.

Sowing

I have taken control of the process despite the many roadblocks set in my way. Stolen better seeds. Shoveled the shit of cows those better off than me have fed in their fancy farms. In my community, we have set up a system for water sharing. I can’t say where we get the water… I’d never say where we get the water. SOLIDARITY. We take turns tilling the land. Sometimes we work in two. The funny thing about shared labor is the way it builds bonds (a statement on race relations post-slavery). It’s easier to share the fruit of our labor if we both bend our back planting the seeds. Sometimes we harmonize songs of hope while we plant. Some studies show that certain frequencies can affect the outcome of growth in plants. Reminder to send your friend or lover a playlist.

Reaping

We are religiously devout in the way we have cared for our crops (each other). We show up consistently. We bring water to sustain each other. We spend time outside soaking up the sunlight. There is an intense importance of consistent scheduled interaction over time. We are the nurturing and will also bear the fruit now that it is time to reap. Sometimes it looks like open hands eager to be pulled in after hopes have been shattered. Sometimes it is a soft thigh to rest the head on. Often it is a hard and necessary shoulder to cry on. A face to watch as a smile spreads across it blossoming like fat ripe fruit. The exciting part of reaping is that you can finally see the manifestation of your hard work. Reminder to hug a loved one.


Prepping

If you have not had the pleasure of prepping food you have picked yourself then there is an empty hole in your life you do not know exists. Take it from me child of grandparents who farmed. Child who has climbed the guava tree to pick fruit. Child who has drank the wine of five-finger fruit (Carambola fruit–star fruit–same shit) brewed in a big plastic bucket in her aunty’s house. Take the time to chop the onions that you planted. Take the time to maintain the relationships. Small texts. Short calls. 700 reels and TikToks and videos sent to shared albums.

Cooking

Throw it all into the pot. Remember the thing about frequencies. Play your favorite album. I think the food absorbs these frequencies too. Mix and match friend groups. Mix and match people. Introduce, network (but not the slimy corporate kind), be sure to laugh obnoxiously. Laughter like the taste of sea salt flakes melting into fresh creamy sauce on top of pasta. Reminder to share a meal with a loved one.

Eating

Over a glass of bitter Mauby with a block of ice, I demand to be the little spoon this time. I’ll be little spoon this time. I want to be the food in the bowl of the spoon too. Resting; a perfect concoction of all the ways I have been loved. The perfect concoction of all the work we have done from the sowing to now. I demand it because quite frankly I have earned it. A smothering, a drowning in love that I–WE have meticulously nurtured from hungry introduction to plate of life. I ask my loved ones to let me feed them. I ask them to spoon me in return. I want to be wrapped in their arms forever. Reminder to work for those deserving of your love.

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For all of you who have already subscribed thanks so much!!Tune in next Tuesday for my next newsletter about why I think humility is a waste of my time! Here’s a quote to hold you over:

"Every single variation of the world humbleness call on you to shrink yourself. It is a luxury I cannot afford myself. For a shrinking of myself could be a murdering of myself.”

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Read some of my other pieces here:

1. Food
2. Life is for consuming