Kiss My Culture

What I Learned About Reality From Nachos

Today I had a very challenging day. I caught a film preview and headed to this newly opened bar -each of which I am to review. It was really challenging. Life threateningly challenging. But I made it through: cue confetti.

There I was in the bus, heading home and thinking about everything and nothing at the same time when I caught a print ad about some brand of tortilla chips. The father and son looked really happy. Both smiling, about to munch on a humongous piece of tortilla chip each. When I say humongous, I meant it. It was half the size of the boy’s head. Even the packaging was huge -half the size of the boy. I was like, blah, can’t be that huge those chips.

Then it struck me that I have a bag of nachos at home. This made me significantly happy. I wasn’t even dying to have one (happiness and nachos). But both complemented each other and fell on my lap.

I was thinking about the subliminal effect the ad had on me. But I know this: how subliminal stimuli can affect viewers’ discretion. I know this, that means it didn’t get to me. I passed by ads of happy people about to have some fast food, another showed a celebrity about to gobble down an abalone, and another of a guy throwing popcorns in the air because he got some movie privileges for using a particular credit card. I didn’t even flinch on any of those. Didn’t stimulate my senses at all. But those tortilla chips… WANT!

Walking towards my house, my pace increased by about 5%. I was almost stomping home. I walked so fast my body was leaning forward; like Michael Jackson and Charlie Chaplin combined. I was sweating a bit. I think I did a little quick shuffle in the midst of walking. I think I did a little heel tap. I can’t be sure, I wasn’t looking. I am not living in reality.

I even created an original song in my head when I was unlocking the door. It went something like, “Ooh yeah, nachos. Ooh ooh, yeah, yeah, nachos. Be having nachos. Nachos foreverrr.” Award-winning stuff.

While I was charging towards the dining table, I was already eyeing for them nachos in the plastic containers. My vision suddenly came equipped with nacho-seeking radar. It was dark, I didn’t even have time to switch on the lights while on this coveted mission of seeking out them nachos.

Three containers lay wait on the table. I picked it all up.

Biscuits.

Empty.

Something in a red plastic bag.

No nachos.

I headed to the TV area, where my dad stashes never-heard-before goodies. No nachos.

On to the kitchen, walked backwards to the dining table, zipped to the TV area, rolled back to the kitchen, ran straight to the toilet, peeked at the other toilet, marched in the study room, to the kitchen, the bedroom, I even stepped outside for a bit…

“NO NACHOS!” I imploded somewhere but not at the balcony; which would have been great for dramatic effect. There was supposed to be a question mark after the exclamation on my implosion, but all possibilities for that was ruined.

What!? (That was a questionable exclamation.) But why? I just saw them nachos this morning. It wasn’t even opened!

Fuck the world, man!

Oh this unmeasurable pain that has been bestowed upon me. The capacity of which is both unbearable and daunting. Unfairness that the world have given birth to has wrapped the warmth of its fresh placenta on my face. I cannot see with this placenta of unfairness on my face. Please doctor of LIFE, please remove this. It doesn’t smell good. And how did this thing get on my face in the first place? Where is the judge? Where is the jury? Where is the balance of expectations and reality? Where. Is. The. Justice?

Yes, I was being ridiculous. Very.

But then it hit me (not the placenta) that how I dealt with my expectations and reality has been really poor for the longest time.

If I had to save up reality in a bank, I would have been reality-less.

Like, how much does this love cost? Oh, it’s 25 realities -the shopkeeper might say. Are you insane? That’s expensive! I was expecting…

There I go again.

I expected nachos. I expected nachos so much I could taste it. I could feel it on my fingers. I could feel the crispiness and roughed textural skin of the nachos between my fingers. The way it moved in my mouth and its crunchiness -I could feel that. I COULD FEEL IT. It was very crunchy. BBQ flavoured. That BBQ flavour tickled my palate. It tickled… it was very naughty. Naughty nachos. They should make that brand: Naughty Mexican Nachos. It would taste great. It would taste like sex.

But nachos didn’t happen. How my expectation gave me complete and utter joy was beyond my comprehension. I could write it down and try to comprehend it, but I didn’t, I couldn’t… it was incomprehensible.

Akin to my life, I dream a lot. I envision things a lot. Before a basketball game down the hole (I’ll call it “The Hole” because it sounds gangsta’ though it was just a basketball court down the community centre), I would think about my play before my play. I would dribble, I would dunk, I would alley-oop all. I would 2-step, 4-step even… the boys wouldn’t know what hit them. I wouldn’t be in the Hall of Fame, players would be in MY Hall of Fame. I was about 14-years-old then. I thought I was Michael Jordan. I was being something beyond ridiculous. Almost none of my “plays” happened in reality, or at least it didn’t match up to it.

It wasn’t reality that gave me joy, it was my expectations of it. Funny how after 30 years on this damn planet, thinking about my play before my play still gives me a sense of satisfaction. It was more than satisfaction… it was control.

I was able to control whatever happened in my expectations. Nothing was impossible. Nothing was beyond means. Everything happened.

IMPOSSIBIRU! Nah, it’s in my head.

A friend told me to ease up the expectations I had of myself; that it might be the thing that’ll kill me. But that’s like taking away my happiness. I enjoy living in my head, it’s most of the things outside my head that I don’t really enjoy.

Is it healthy? Not at all. I wouldn’t recommend it; not even on a la carte. It can be too much of a hassle. Because reality don’t tell you that you failed, your expectations do.

I envy those that live by the day. The species that are equipped with the ability to let whatever comes come. The come-what-may types. The ones whose favourite actors must be Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor. I don’t live by the day, I live in pre or post 2039. In my head, the future is fantastic.

But nachos taught me that it isn’t fantastic as I’ve made it out to be, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s not the end of the world just because my 2039 didn’t look like how I expected it to be. It’s still fine, it’s what I make it mean that isn’t.

Anyway, that red plastic bag in the container? Fuckloads of nachos in there. I was expecting it to be in its original state, the state of which I last saw it. What I needed wasn’t in where I thought it would be. But it’s there. And I am having mouth sex with nachos right about now. Smiley face.