Tea, Temporality, Tuna

written 23.02.2021

I woke up at 9 am.

Slowly made my way over to the kitchen.

Wearing my pyjamas- lifelong routine.

Filled up the kettle with water.

Waited for it to boil.

Filled up the teapot with hot water.

Unwrapped a tea bag- put it in.

Silence.

And then my mind travelled.

Vast distances to places where my feet could never touch the ground.

Forgot my corporality, now I am in my purest form.

Within a second, I was there.  

I hear something rushing.

Soft, calm.

Can you hear it too?

I smell something.

Crisp and clear.

The freshest air to ever enter my lungs.

I see something blue.

A blue of kings. Deep and dark.

Royal. Pulsing.

Tell me, can you see it??

But wait- there is something else.

 It catches my attention.

Traps it. Startles me.

A small plastic bag.

White Trash.

Swiftly flowing with the ever-growing waves, the eternal rhythm of the world

– undisturbed?

Performing a dance routine, like an undying swan.

Folding into itself without ever falling apart,

Withering without decay.

Silent destruction.

Without a cause.

Cursed to exist for men’s eternity.

It was suffering.

I could sense it.

Lonely.

Out of place.

Forgotten.

And then there was a fish.

Even smaller than the plastic bag.

Approaching. It was its living room.

Swimming against the undying tide.

In search to sustain itself for one more day.

I can hear its hunger.

Watch closely what happens next!

With its tiny mouth it rips into the plastic.

One small piece now separated from the body-bag only to merge with another.

The fish inducing its own death by wanting to avert it.

The plastic now fragmented for ever. 

Innocent and quick.

Heart-breaking.

Can you hear it?

I am starting to lose it

The fish and plastic are now on their own.

The waves are left behind.

The air gone.

The tea is ready.

My trip is over, and my body is again.

I take a sip of the waves inside my cup. Life affirming. Life sustaining. Too hot.

Then I throw away the tea bag.

Into the bin.

Neat. Tidy.

Done.

But still, can you sense it?

Happening right now, somewhere else?

The plastic still floating.

On its own and inside two fish now.

It grows daily.

My tea bag is inside a tuna fish.

It will be my dinner in three months.

Ironic temporality. Ironic corporeality. 

Second nature, second nurture.

Fish-Plastic-Me,

for Eternity.