Friday, August 26, 2011


There’s a cupcake in front of me that I took a bite out of. That was forty minutes ago and I still feel the lingering taste of the cream, the rotten milky substance and the not so fresh little cake beneath it. I feel like puking, but I swallowed too far long ago and now I can’t get myself to feel the same amount of disgust again. Its perfect dressing still undisturbed, its very sight sending unpleasant olfactory signals to my brain, this bitten cupcake seemed to be everything that is wrong with this world.
Does anybody get that? Maybe not…But in this essay of Christian Bernard’s he talks about a moulding biscuit with tiny teeth marks where it was bitten. It was the last thing his brother ate before he died of heart disease when they were kids and their father somehow decided to keep it as a relic. See, the thing is, I didn’t know what a cupcake was supposed to taste like. This is my first and it might have just happened that the waiter hates me and had given me one from the bad batch. But the one bite had left me with the taste of revolt in my mouth and the sight of death in front of me.
I try to remind myself of all the absolutes in life. Death is the only one that registers. Just yesterday, I watched this movie called Buried.

A guy in a box. Underground. Alive.

If each breath we take is to be accounted for, can any one of us really say we deserved it? If I were to run with a monitor tied to my neck that says 5.475×108 breaths left, would I do anything differently? And if I do, would it mean I deserved those 1.6×1022 molecules of oxygen I consume in one breath? But what could I possibly do to make every breath count? Really count…for I am buried already, and I am helpless and alone, as are you and the world is still making beautiful cupcakes. My clock is ticking and nothing changes it and there are no other absolutes in life, except death. 

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