Defining taste.

Sometimes you chance upon something that it makes you stop. Go back. And take a look again. Today I stumbled upon something like that at my friend’s office deck. It was a model tree made from cut stones of white, red, blue and green colors. Just glancing at it while passing by sparked some flickers in my mind. Flashes of a life so long past. Of my childhood. Of wearing necklace made of exactly same colorful cut stones; cut, yet polished and smooth. Of feeling beautiful just wearing them, though I was just a skinny 8 year old. Of me fiddling with the stones all the while. Of licking the stones often, to see what they tasted like. Of mom chiding me for being filthy like that. And me thinking, “It’s not filthy. Its tasty.” I guess I thought tasty also meant liking something when you put it in your mouth. In that logic, it wasn’t tasteless. ‘Cause I liked their coolness and their shape. I loved the way the stones felt against my tongue, for reasons unknown.

Or who knows, maybe I loved them because deep down I wanted to be like them – irregular, uneven, but with a finesse. And yes tasteful too.