Friday, March 09, 2007


I went to bed last night with only one thing on my mind – the fragrance of the escargot I ate at a yacht club last month.

Oh boy, how I crave for it again.

I remember it like it was just a few moments ago. That savory taste of the stir fried worm in my mouth, coated with a sinful amount of garlic and oil. There’s only one word to describe that tantalizing moment – bliss.

Dear Lord, how I yearn for that piece of gooey lump in my mouth again.

I remember digging out the poor creature from its shell with a puny fork and putting it into my mouth, all the while anticipating the overwhelming taste to pacify my hunger (I waited for my food for almost half an hour, mind you).

And boy, did it. That little piece of chewy gooey lump served its purpose to the fullest. It was delicious beyond my wildest dreams. And if the stupid shell was edible, I would have gobbled that down too. Too bad it wasn’t, too bad it wasn’t. The oil teased my taste buds and trickled down my throat in the most seductive way no food has ever done. Bliss.

There wasn’t the slightest hint of sympathy in me when I consumed that poor fellow with my jaws of death. No, not even a tinge of it… till today…

Snails are grotesque.
Snails are freaky.
Snails are slow.
Snails are ugly.
Snails are defenseless.
Snails are edible.
Snails are fun to kill.
Snails die when you sprinkle salt on them.
Snails have stupid looking eyes that tempts you to cut them.
Snails are too big for predators (humans and animals alike) not to realize and too small to do anything.

And because they are all that, they are pitiful.

It’s sad to live a life like that. It’s downright pathetic. I can just imagine myself in a bulky shell, walking down the streets in fear of getting run over or stepped on. The stares people give would be filled with disgust. They’d snort at me, spit at me or maybe worse still, crush me. It’ll take me a month to walk from Cineleisure to HMV and probably a year or two to get back home to Toa Payoh. Nobody would like me, except for how I’d probably taste on the plate. My eyes would be an object of ridicule and my shell, well, would be just a shell. I’d excrete slime wherever I go and cleaners would be after my neck.


But thank God, I’m not a snail.

Financial problems,
Unreasonable parents,
Irritating colleagues and acquaintances,
Ya-da, ya-da.. all the problems people face.. ya-da, ya-da…

All these I’d rather have then to be a snail. I’d rather suffer as a human then be a snail. What are these as compared to the fate of a snail? Nothing, in fact it’d might very well be heaven to them, wouldn’t it? The thought of getting killed, stir fried and eaten in garlic would be, as a human, the last thing on my mind. But for a snail, it’d be the first thing on its mind. If it has one, that is.

Thank God, I’m not a snail. And neither are you.

Today, I’ve resolved that if I feel down or swing into one of my depressive state again, I’d remember that I'm far better off than snails...
Then I'd find one and laugh at it.

Snails. "Muahaha..."

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