boiled eggs and realisations. 🥚
boiling eggs.
when i was growing up, my mum would make hard boiled eggs. the type that were quite hard boiled (with the slight bitta grey that from the outside, looks like the ball in computer mice back then) and i would eat them because well, i didn't know anything else, and honestly they tasted great with salt n pepper on some freshly buttered toast. or crushed, squished onto some flatbread, and rolled up.
but i grew up and learnt to boil eggs a little less than what she did, so that you don't get the grey bits, instead a soft gooey yolk. this makes me realise that she didn't know any better either, and why would she try and make them softer. not like anyone did that back home. not like they had various readily and easily accessible information streams as we do to get bombarded with "TEN DIFFERENT WAYS TO COOK EGGS!! (NOT CLICKBAIT)" type shit.
this in turn, makes me realise that in my teenage years i was unfairly harsh towards her. expecting her to "just get it" or to "just know". really, she was just learning how to be a mother as she went along as well. just as i'm learning how to make eggs as i go along my life.
all this to say, i appreciate her more and more with every day that passes. and i hope that you too, reader, find a good relationship with your parent(s) if you can. much love.
this post came out of boiling eggs at half past midnight on a saturday after a lifting session (friday). the happy chemicals from lifting combined with the tranquility of the night allowing me to process thoughts which i hadn't previously done so. a meditative state almost. perhaps something to write about there. no music lifting hits different.
if any of this resonated with you, i would love to hear from you over at the guestbook!