While cutting some veggies for last night dinner, I had one of my epiphanies. I always cut the ends of the carrots, tomatoes, celery, or any other fruit or veggie that crosses my path. Even when they are cut in halves, if pre-packaged, I go back and cut a slice from the ends just to have a fresh end (not sure if you follow me). Well, by the time I am done, I have a decent amount of veggie scraps that go into the garbage because I cannot compost where I live now (but that will be possible in the near future – can’t wait). It occurred to me that my waste was a perfect meal for people in some countries that will give anything to have a tiny slice of that scrap to make a soup – I mean countries where there is extreme hunger and poverty, and food is not an everyday sight. Not that I am not aware of hunger, for some reason this time, it was different.
Besides feeling terrible and wasteful, I thought of how much perspective matters in how we go through life and do our own thing, and then, I thought of how it affects our writing. When we write a story, even when we are writing from the character’s point of view, our own perspective of things and life is playing in the background. I don’t think that it is possible to escape it totally, even when we try to be true to the character and do a lot of research about the topic or character’s behavior, origins, culture … and so on.
My point is, our perspective follows us everywhere, it is how we see things, life, and how we interpret it, besides being influenced by our own upbringing, culture, and experiences. I have made vegetable soup countless of times, and yet, this time, those scraps meant something different, and have become meaningful somehow.