I was cleaning out my laptop and found these photos I took last year that never made it on the blog for reasons I can no longer remember. I have a hunch I wasn’t particularly excited when I first saw them, which would explain why they’ve been squirreled away in a folder I named “Mehhh” in my photo archives. Now that I’ve exposed my very inventive folder naming system to the world, we can put that to rest and talk about my renewed interest in these photos. I can’t really put my finger on why I like them again, maybe photos can be likened to wine: leave them alone somewhere dark for months and rediscovering them gives you a high so intense you see their hidden potential. My other flimsy theoretical take on this is that somewhere in that 12 month hibernation period, my tastes have altered slightly.
Taste is chemistry: it is conditional on a blend of the obvious – like your mood or food allergies (if you can’t eat peanuts, then it is certain Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups aren’t your favourite afternoon snack) – and also things that seem ridiculous: how early you got to work that day or whether you wore the right sort of underwear. And in my private universe of brain cells that dictate taste, I would imagine all these random variables accumulating, steadily tinkering with just how much I liked or disliked this and that.
Changes in taste can happen slowly: I don’t have the same enthusiasm about eating satay like most Malays do. It’s what I’m famous for. I have, at many a family barbeque, been treated to cousins sneakily pushing sticks of satay into my plate just to see my face contorting itself into this. Something happened earlier this year though – it was my last weekend in Singapore and dad suggested we hit this morning market in Malaysia for breakfast. I knew that was code for I WANT SATAYYYY! – meh – but I relented anyway since 1) we were already heading to my fave restaurant for dinner 2) I am a legit daddy’s girl, admittedly the worst sort. 20 minutes after placing our order, the sticks of dread were served and maybe it was the charcoal heat, the grease, my family’s happy nomming faces or the bitterness of having to leave them again for school but I found myself reaching for a satay stick, and another, and ano..damn it, I suppose I like satay now .__.
But unlike my Sataygate of 2012, changes in taste can also be in a constant flux. One day, you can hate undercuts and love it the next day when you see it on someone who can pull it off really well but only to dislike it a little when your best friend tells you NO. Disclaimer: I am not this person. Another strange taste-related event is that I’m also beginning to like people I once couldn’t stand? ‘Like’ might possibly be too charitable a word but I’ve become more patient when in close proximity with these people. I don’t feel like killing them half the time which is certainly an improvement. I think my brain cells must be all wonky from the cold. Or maybe I’ve just grown up a little.