A. BOMB. IN. PARIS.
The news came as I stirred blueberries, white wine, and sugar into a syrup for the bread pudding baking in the oven.
Just last night, Zahara joined me in the kitchen. She broke the baguette into pieces as I mixed the custard. Now, she is sitting in the living room, announcing that there is a bomb in Paris.
BOMB. SYRUP.
Bitter. Sweet.
Isn’t that life? And are we always trying to navigate the two extremes?
Earlier that morning, I experienced both the bitter and sweet within minutes of each other.
There was a light- romantic rain when Ontonio and I left the house. We huddled under the umbrella, thrilled that there were no raindrops falling on our heads.
Then, we walked past a group of men experiencing homelessness. They sat on an undressed mattress, talking loud and living life as usual. I swallowed the bitter feeling.
Minutes later, we arrived at the coffee shop. We closed our umbrella, sat, and sipped our espresso. Life felt sweet again.
Then… “There is a bomb in Paris.”
By now you know there wasn’t a bomb. There was a gas explosion that caused a fire in the 5th arrondissement. Our apartment is miles away in the 10th and we are safe from harm.
Sweet. Bitter. Then sweet again— this is life, my friends.
Swallow the bitter. Savor the sweet.
Until next time,
Be well.
Kadine
