Turning Point

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I ate a bite of meat. Like a connoisseur savoring an unknown brand of wine, my teeth carefully chew along the stringy flesh. Closely tuned into my taste buds, I waited to feel bad, awkward, or anything. Instead, my first thought was that the I had missed out a lot.


Disappointment came. I had half-hoped to feel disgusted, at the taste or at myself. It seemed that my conviction hadn’t changed my appetite during the last few years. Was it that the conviction was, in fact, weak?

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