I’ve decided to be pescatarian. No this isn’t a typo and I ain’t making up a new word, here’s what it means. Long story short, it’s like vegetarianism but with the option of seafood.

Why? You might ask, and many have. I’ve wrecked my brains a million and ten times over to find an answer. A plausible, logical answer. Nothing. But the closest proximity would be a personal challenge. You see I’ve always wanted to try being vegan. HA! Nice try. Or vegetarian. BUT(realistically) I knew I’d never survive. I’ve thought of just putting it in practice a couple of days a week, but it’d be too hypocritical not to mention ostentatious. I had to think of something that would convince me to at least put up a fight. That’s when I came across pescatarianism. Neither here nor there, it was the perfect middle ground to begin with.

Almost all of the people I’ve shared the idea with thought I was flippin nuts and wouldn’t last a day(or a month or three or six). Thankfully, I have the support of some of my closest, not that they necessarily understand considering I don’t quite myself either.

I’ve only been at it for five days. It’s been hard. But bearable. Not so much due to meat cravings or anything like that, but more of the kinds of food available within my reach. Most people in our food-crazy city eat everything and more so I can’t really blame vendors and shops. Who’d take the trouble to cater to a few odd screwballs anyway? And being a bit of a foodie brings this challenge to a whole new level. BUT it also gives me the chance to search for new places and cuisines that incorporate these elements in their repertoire. More new places to discover then.

Health. Sustainability. Ethics. Environment. Standing out. I guess there’s a million other reasons I could cough out. But to me, this isn’t quite the point. Though some do make sense, it is a personal thing more than anything else. Something to give me direction; focus. A goal. Getting to know myself. To see how I function out of the comfort zone and things like that. You catch my drift.

Well I guess it will get harder and I’ll kick myself when it does. But until then, I’ll be okay. Here goes!

Wish me luck!

Autumn in the streets. Drizzle blurs the sky. Coffee shop. A cigarette. Balcony. An alley. Black and white photos. Fairy lights blush. Under the balcony. Old men at backgammon. A trio. Trumpet, double bass, violin. I Only Have Eyes For You. New parents. Slow dance. Piazza. Smell of lamb. Smell of rain. Song of starlings. Preparing to roost.

Me. I went through quite a number of phases. With each, I yearned a different job. A marine biologist. A chef. An artist. A pilot(though I never thought I’d ever be clever enough). A retiree. An American Gladiator. But of all my grandest ambitions, one stood out the most. I wholeheartedly wanted to be a grass-cutter. Yes, the Indian man with kerosene strapped to his back.

The bright coveralls. The sleek balaclava. The tinted goggles. The razor-sharp synthetic gut. And of course, THE rocket-pack. Nothing and no one could stand in my way. I honestly thought I would look cool and make the world a better place. Parks. Gardens. Football fields. Sidewalks. I would give them life. And by doing so, give life to humanity as well. I’d be a superhero.

Interesting what goes on in the right side of little coconuts.

Today, I’m not sure grass-cutters look too awesome anymore. But what I do know, is that they make my world a better place. You need not a Ph.D for the job. You need not marketing or interpersonal skills for the job. Blast it, you don’t even need a sprinkle of talent. Probably just a good back and perhaps 20/70 vision. Yet don’t you think the job makes much sense?

The goal is simple: Make long blades short. Simple as pie.

No need for arguments. Stress. Lawsuits. Politics. War. The beryl blades won’t decide to grow back once you turn your back. Neither would they talk back at you or stab your back or sue you or make you work overtime. Present the landscape and call it a day. And the satisfaction of a job well done is true. How many of us can say the same after a hard day’s work.

Still, it is not a job many would take up. Not even notice, I reckon. Shouldn’t we then have all the more regard for them? I like to think of grass-cutters as humble heroes who make the world a better place. Waddle waddling on. Even if it means doing so a blade at a time.

But quite frankly, I’m pretty sick and tired of the system here. IT’S FUCKING BULLSHIT.