How to feel like time still exists
In the millennial universe, time has always suffered a bad rap. There is either not enough of it or too much of it. And in both cases, it is equally stressful.
A popular adage suggests that time is of the essence. This is made evident by statements peppered in our everyday life: Get clear skin in 60 seconds, a home-cooked meal in two minutes and all your dreams come true in five, four, three…
You either turn your life around in a matter of six months or justify your new ‘go with the flow’ attitude. Yet now, six months or six hours, it is all the same.
For most part, our relationship with time is strained. However, I’ve found that the one way to nurture this relationship is by way of cooking food.
I like cooking fish occasionally. The process of cleaning, cutting and marinating is one I always seem to find very satisfying (almost Zen-like).
I also like to follow recipes to the T. And thankfully, it is very easy to overcook fish. I say thankfully because this is the only time I actually look at a clock and value time.
The recipe says cook the fish on each side for three minutes. I set the microwave at 03:00. It feels thrilling to be so aware of the time. At 2:59, I ninja jump to the microwave so that it doesn’t make that obnoxious beeping sound. At 3:00 I flip the fish. I’ve done it.
But here’s the catch (and a fish pun), it is also very easy to undercook a fish. I’ve plated many an uncooked fish on my plate. But, no regrets. Okay, maybe a few. Stupid fish.
But not everything is as time-bound as cooking a fish. I could leave my sourdough for 30 minutes or a couple of days and I wouldn’t know the difference. (I assume that there’s a quarantine crowned ‘bread-maker’ rolling his eyes at me, but whatever).
In fact, on most days, I find myself slipping in and out of focus with regard to food. Some days I remember what goes into banana bread, and the other days I just try to mix a banana with store-bought bread.
I find myself questioning — has it been an hour since I had breakfast or is it an hour to lunch? Who cares! Bring on the uncooked fish.
But maybe not. Unless it has been transformed into sushi. #YOLO?
Time-bound cooking is one way to still feel like time exists. Another way is to use it as an icebreaker during conversations — ‘Hey, do you know what today is?’ Both laugh in synchrony. Neither knows.
I recently got a call from one of my clients. ‘How have you been since…you know?’ she quipped. I laughed, because I knew. ‘Like, what day is it even, right?’ I think she practiced her set last night.
In fact, even my salon guy took time out to ask me of my how-abouts. We joked about working from home and then I declined his services. A wholesome conversation featuring a semblance of normalcy.
Every day, I navigate through time, trying to squeeze it into my everyday life. But now, time only exists either in conversation or in food.
I am beginning to believe that the Big Ben in London is nothing but one of the characters from Beauty and the Beast that forgot to transform back into a human. (We’re sorry, Ben. It was one of those ‘you had to be there’ things.)
In fact, I would be lying if I didn’t try to estimate time by looking at the placement of the sun. Perhaps this is how the ancient Egyptians did it. We will attack the enemy when the sun reaches crotch level. Start killing the enemy when the sun is at eye level. Our strategy is sun blindness. A master(sun)stroke.
Although time is all fun and games now, I can’t help but wonder when it will be a commodity again. When will I be able to look at my office wall clock expectantly waiting for it to strike 7:30? When will I make weekend plans to meet my friends at 7 PM, knowing well enough that nobody will show up before 8:30?
And as I say this, I wonder, when will this be over — 30 minutes or 3 months from now?
