Longing
This is a portrait of me displaying the emotion of longing:
I stand, green shopping basket in hand, gazing intently ahead of me at the produce aisle of the supermarket. In front of me I am facing an item I have not had in the fresh variety in well over a year. Sure, occasionally someone will stick a syrupy one on top of my drink or as a decorative measure on a piece of cake I’ve ordered in a restaurant. Yet, a ripe item, recently plucked from the tree, and waiting patiently for consumption has eluded me for the duration of my stint in Africa.
Oh scarlet, ripe, spherical cherry of my desire why do you taunt me so?
There is no price. This is not a good sign. Items without a price tag are indefinable. Things that do not openly state their cost are often things of pretentious origin. They are not for the masses; they are there for those whom price is not an object or for those unlucky enough to assume they can afford them and be strung with the outrageous bill later.
I am not one of those people. Especially now. In my former life I could occasionally pretend to be one of those people, ordering a drink without knowing the price, and then later, after receiving the bill, have the knowledge that I would be eating peanut butter and jelly for the rest of the week, but the experience wasn’t detrimental as a whole. It is now. I can not do as I desire, grab the carton of cherries and carry them nonchalantly to the cash register where I purchase them without flinching.
I compromise. I find a man working in the store. He does a price check for me. The result is not good.
The cherries are 30 rand. For this much money I could buy 5 loaves of bread or 60 bananas. I could see two movies. At this price I am 15 rand short of being able to afford lodging for a night in Pretoria. I can go from my village to town and back for this cost.
I step away. This is unjustifiable. Goodbye orbs of sweetness. Goodbye spheres of succulence. It’s bananas for me tonight.
I stand, green shopping basket in hand, gazing intently ahead of me at the produce aisle of the supermarket. In front of me I am facing an item I have not had in the fresh variety in well over a year. Sure, occasionally someone will stick a syrupy one on top of my drink or as a decorative measure on a piece of cake I’ve ordered in a restaurant. Yet, a ripe item, recently plucked from the tree, and waiting patiently for consumption has eluded me for the duration of my stint in Africa.
Oh scarlet, ripe, spherical cherry of my desire why do you taunt me so?
There is no price. This is not a good sign. Items without a price tag are indefinable. Things that do not openly state their cost are often things of pretentious origin. They are not for the masses; they are there for those whom price is not an object or for those unlucky enough to assume they can afford them and be strung with the outrageous bill later.
I am not one of those people. Especially now. In my former life I could occasionally pretend to be one of those people, ordering a drink without knowing the price, and then later, after receiving the bill, have the knowledge that I would be eating peanut butter and jelly for the rest of the week, but the experience wasn’t detrimental as a whole. It is now. I can not do as I desire, grab the carton of cherries and carry them nonchalantly to the cash register where I purchase them without flinching.
I compromise. I find a man working in the store. He does a price check for me. The result is not good.
The cherries are 30 rand. For this much money I could buy 5 loaves of bread or 60 bananas. I could see two movies. At this price I am 15 rand short of being able to afford lodging for a night in Pretoria. I can go from my village to town and back for this cost.
I step away. This is unjustifiable. Goodbye orbs of sweetness. Goodbye spheres of succulence. It’s bananas for me tonight.
posted by Cait at 10:51 AM
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