The last picture posted on my Instagram was 29w ago. That's 203 days, 4872 hours, 292320 minutes or 17539200 seconds (and counting) ago I had my last burger. That is slightly more than half a year but it feels like forever and a day.
This is the new norm; a life with no burgers or purpose. No, homemade burgers don't get in the equation. There is some undefined bliss in being served a plateful of delicacy as you walk back to the table, hands wobbling with edible weight. On second thought, the bliss lies in the leeway to dodge kitchen toil. Cooking is therapy, they say. But cooking is also numerous heartbreaks, especially if you're just starting out.
The camera roll on my phone is another story. Folders hoarding tonnes of photos are cast away in a corner, never to be opened or chanced on. These are repressed memories of an older time when burgers were taken for granted. Anything that prompts misery is buried deep within; snaps of fries, shakes, all the things that hit off with silly buns stuffed in meat and drippy sauce.
Okay, okay, I know what you are thinking. Did food delivery die? No, they haven't. They are here and getting richer by the second. The pandemic has brought together depressed, food-greedy souls by the throes of discounts. However, there's a catch. Blame scientists for not knowing if the virus spreads through food packaging. I am talking about "conclusive evidence", not "put it under the sun for x hours", or "wash your hands after". Blame overprotective parents. Blame my gutlessness. Or maybe, this is being prudent.
Every day I pat myself on the back for living without burgers. I deserve more. It is much more than living without junk food. It's about saving money, like a real adult. Closing your doors to the outside world, living like a hermit, weaning yourself off a love you couldn't resist would seem hardly possible a year back.
Sadly, this is what a pandemic looks like. Sanitizers are the new keys. Wearing no masks can get you arrested. Standing too close to people will get you fined. People who go to restaurants end up as dead statistics. I am here well and alive. But at what cost...
Hiya goes to and fro between boredom and sleep. Talk to her at email@example.com