What I mean is that I want to bloody know something about something before I start to think I know anything. Call it research.
My teachers promptly appeared, thank God:
Inscape, a short story by Yaa Gyasi, for Guernica
an essay by A. Igoni Barrett in The Guardian
I've built a bit of a reading list (my FOMO reading list) of contemporary literature mostly by Africans now in like their 30s, 40s. Igoni's books, On Black Sisters' Street,
I have good ears, yes, but I don't listen to my mother. It's one minute, or ten minutes, or sometimes, rarely, an hour, and then I disappear to listen somewhere else - to The Guardian, to comedian Stephen Colbert's show, to musical artistes, and so on.
If you like boring gist, this is me overanalyzing: oh, I see, what my mother is trying to say is that she's passionate about food preparation.
Ok. I'll try to build on that knowledge next time instead of fleeing the scene when she starts to make small-talk with a complaint about some food or the other that she did not eat, not buy, not try because she suspects that it is bad or full of sugar or full of oil or full of overcooked oil or bad chemicals or fat or full of salt or dirty or not good or not well cooked or...
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