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Angry kitchen.

14 Sep

Blueberry cheese cake + seaweed soup + fried noodle.

I guess I’m too upset to have slaved in the kitchen the whole afternoon until five thirty. 

I remember hating the kitchen up until high school. But somehow when I was in form five, I started to seek refuge in the midst of heat and the sound of knife chopping and pan stirring.

Somehow.

And I’d throw into my cooking anything I deem suitable and edible. As long as my hands are busy, my mind shuts off everything not related to cooking. 

Escapism. 

Twelve in the afternoon. Five in the evening. Nine at night. Three o’clock in the morning. 

As long as I remember, as long as I’m hurting, time matters not.

As long as my heart hurts, as long as my chest aches, time matters not.

As long as my tries aren’t dried, as long as I can’t smile, time matters not.

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