Blank Doll.

Only a world caught in the throes of the latest wave of globalisation would there exist such culinary extremes as a return to local-centric organic fare and molecular gastronomy. The one is an embrace of the earth, a celebration of our storied past and the fruits of a spirited sojourn back to the bosom of nature, the other the inspired madcap apotheosis of industry that brings to the forth the very midas touch of science and technology. On one hand we have El Bulli, on the other, Chez Panisse. If I were any more melodramatic, I'd proclaim the existence of a new Iron Curtain, the modern day Cold War fought in every restaurant and places of nourishment.

Anyway, I was just brooding. It seems to me that there are always people whom I inevitably let go off/ who inevitably let go of me. You for one. I remember the initial excitement of acquaintance. I remember your amusement at my clumsy pretentions, your mirth at my wounded childishness, my delight at having pleased you so, my admiration for your talents and our very mutual amity. How deliciously cliche, the way we got so familiar with one another so quickly, our fingertips pressed against one another and a world engendered. Perhaps too quickly in retrospect. I am wont to wreck friendships that way, I am too quick with my words, too callous with my denounciations, too intemperate with my emotions. I think I exasperated you, disappointed you then gradually, lost you. Perhaps in my anger I thought it little to have let you go but then when I turned around, I found I was the one who had been let go off. My pride will not have me ask for forgiveness and I do not think you care anymore.

Yet another wound to add to the countless others. This will be different because I had a chance and I ruined it. It shall not happen like this the next time, I promise.

C'est tout.