The Real

In times when it feels like you are living in a never ending conspiracy theory, I think the thing to do is to zoom in on and appreciate more than ever what is real. At least this is my strategy.

The supermarket is real. I recently had to take my car to the mechanic for repairs. The first thing I did after I picked it up was drive to the supermarket. Because in the three weeks I was without my car, the thing I most missed was driving to the supermarket. Yeah, I love supermarkets. And not just for convenience and for saving me from the arduous task of having to farm my own food. For which I’m grateful. I realised that it is the place I go to after I’ve been to the gym.  I find that the slow and relaxed strides along the aisles is the least demanding way of cooling down after a work-out. And I get to combine it with the task of grocery shopping.  So when I got to the supermarket that day after I picked up my car it felt like back to reality, which was very comforting. 

I was reminded that the supermarket is also a place I had turned to in my life for comfort. I was living in New York City when 9/11 happened. On that day as the trains were not running I walked from Brooklyn Heights where I was working, all the way to Chelsea, Manhattan, where I was staying. I arrived drained and dazed. Instead of going back to my apartment I headed to the local Whole Foods. As I stepped into the store, I was greeted by a staff member. He looked me in the eye and smiled. The warmth of his smile jolted me out of the daze I had been in all day. I picked up a shopping basket and proceeded to fill it up as if I had an empty fridge at home. I didn’t. But seeing the picture-perfect fruit and vegetables displays, shelves neatly stocked and friendly staff felt real to me as opposed to what was out on the streets that day. I stayed there for a good while.

During Covid lockdown in London I could visit three places: parks, cemeteries and supermarkets. When the first two became too people-ly, I sought refuge in the latter. I discovered that if I went to my local supermarket after 9pm, there was no need to queue-up to enter the premises, I could just walk in. Best of all, it was practically empty. There was no need to fight anyone for the last avocado or packet of rocket because the last hour was when the staff started restocking for the next day of business so the shelves were full. I’d push my trolley with a loose grip swaying to the beat of the music playing overhead. I would make my way to the cashier only after the last store closing announcement. I would find the cashier in an end of shift jovial mood. She would make small talk.  Tell me that I was lucky to have found all the veggies I wanted as they were constantly out since the lockdown started, “People getting healthy, innit?” I’d stride back home feeling like I had had a really fun night out on the town. 

Going to the supermarket can also be life transforming.  Whenever I’m in a new city/country I will invariably find a reason to head to the supermarket as soon as possible. Eight years ago I visited a supermarket called Supermaxi in Quito, Ecuador. It had a pretty impressive selection of local chocolates. I thought they would make good gifts for friends that were chocolate lovers. Up until that point I had detested chocolate and I couldn’t comprehend why it was so popular. But I didn’t want to gift something that I hadn’t tried.  I picked up a bar each of Piccari’s 70% and 85% raw organic chocolate to try. Not only did the pieces I had not make me want to spit them out (as I would have done in the past) but I wanted more. I even experimented with 100% raw dark chocolate! It was bitter with an undertone of sweetness that lingered long after I had eaten it, along with my desire for more. I was floored. Never expected chocolate to taste that good, especially one found in a supermarket. I later discovered that Ecuador is the original home of cacao with a history of chocolate making that dates back 5300 years. Since that discovery, a small piece of dark chocolate has been sweetening my life on a regular basis.

Learnt!

Another very recent discovery is poetry. What? How did I get through the British education system without studying poetry? I didn’t! I just didn’t see the point of it. I was always like, where is the story? Who cares about some stupid words that rhyme?  So I would switch off. And I have stayed off it until a couple of weeks ago. I was reading the comments to this Chris Hedges post, someone shared a poem by Langston Huges titled: Let America Be America Again. First I wasn’t sure what it was I was reading, by the time I realised that it was a poem, I was transfixed. I read the whole thing. Googled for the original poem and re-read it again. I learnt that through a poem you could tell the whole history of a nation. I share a short excerpt below. I highly recommend you read the whole thing here. 

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)… 

 

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak…

 

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That’s made America the land it has become.

O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home—

For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,

And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came

To build a “homeland of the free.”

 

The free?….