Journal Entry: August 12, 2010

"Well, Mr. Antichrist, that's all for the present." - The Stranger, Albert Camus

I had two pieces of bread this morning.  What happened yesterday?

Yesterday, I woke up multiple times, from both naps and maladjusted sleep cycles.  Each time was a different but familiar scenery of my Philippines: Lola Pat's house, Lola's home in Cavite, my dad's apartment.  Right now, I'm sitting on my dad's couch.  It is probably ten o'clock in the morning.

I had never eaten so many meals as I did yesterday.  Sometimes, I was proud.  For example, I had balut for the first time.  I picked out the pieces: first the yolk, then some other gooey stuff, and finally all that remained was the duck embryo.  You could see its eyes, beak, and claws, all in all a feeble sight.  When it came time to eat the actual creature, it was not the familiar taste of duck.  In fact it tasted like nothing at all, except for the sale and vinegar used for flavoring.

My friend Courtney is vegan.  By virtue of not being the killer of the animal, she chooses not to eat meat.  So conversely, if she elected to kill an animal for sustenance, she would eat it.  Got it?  Good.  All right back to the somewhat present - I had in my hand a fertilized egg of a duck.  It was hot to the touch.  I suppose in all of the animal kingdom, a harmless waterfowl embryo must be the easiest to kill.  Technically, I didn't kill it; the man who heated the egg must have done the job, but eating the duck straight from the cracked eggshell  was the closest I've been to taking the middleman out.  So, for now, I am justified.

But I still feel disgusted.  Not at the time, no.  I was glad to eat a uniquely Filipino delicacy, if you can call it one.  Another check on the bucket list.  But "Was it really necessary?"  All right.  It didn't even taste good.  It didn't even taste like anything, just, well, faintly crunchy.

"What's the point?" is another form of the question, and I'm aware that asking this question (for me) ends up in a sorry nihilism that can piss away a whole day, but truthfully I had the equivalent of five meals yesterday.  Thinking myself a hobbit imbued (Edit: I am embarrassed by this sentence!  Imbued was the wrong verb, but I can't think of a better one.) me no solace.  Was it for sustenance?  Not really.  Taste?  No.  Curiosity?  Yes.  Add a little bit of questionable cultural approval, and you can maybe see why I still feel queasy.

Eating that duck challenged my reasons for not being vegetarian anymore.  I wasn't asked to eat it, and my refusal would have offended no one, culturally speaking.  For some inexplicable reason, I am pretty sure I felt better as a vegetarian.  Maybe it's the self-righteousness.  I am slowly coming to terms with my omnivorous life.