Pickling My Thoughts

There’s this cliché saying: “When life gives you lemons…” and then everyone has their own cute add-ons — make lemonade, make lemon cake, zest it, squeeze it, whatever.
Mine is a bit different: when life gives you lemons, pickle them.
The irony? I don’t even like pickles that much.

I like the idea of having jars lined up at home — maybe because that’s what my mother did, and her mother before her. A small tradition bottled in mustard oil. Except they all genuinely enjoy eating pickles with everything… lunch, dinner, and sometimes even breakfast. I’m the odd one out who just likes the nostalgia they hold, not the taste.

And then there’s food in general…
It’s the inevitable part of life, yet somehow I seem to be losing my appetite. Or maybe this is just a reset. All my life, I was never much of a foodie. I always struggled to keep up with my weight. I was the lean one — the easy target for jokes: “Don’t they feed you at home?” or “It’s windy outside, stay in or you’ll fly away.”
Fast forward so many years, and for at least the past ten years or so I found myself constantly having to watch what I eat just to stay balanced. Until now… when I didn’t even realise that somewhere along the way, my appetite simply slipped away. Just like that.

Anyway… it’s been days since I last wrote something.
The same clouded mind.
The same scattered thoughts flying in every direction, none landing.
A whole symphony of what if… what if not…
And me, somewhere in between, trying to make sense of it all.

Maybe that’s my version of pickling — taking these thoughts, these days, these emotions… and storing them somewhere until they make sense.

Or until I do.