I can’t deny these past couples of months have been amazing. To be honest, I wasn’t sure about us at the beginning. You’re not my type. At all. I had never so much as heard of Pan-Asian cuisine before. I’m an island girl that eats rice and beans five times a week. I don’t know what most of the ingredients at the Poke Bar even are. All my life I’ve played it on the safe side, tried the same things, went to the same places. I have stayed away from the likes of you because my few encounters ended badly. Having to spit into napkins at restaurants to preserve my tastebuds isn’t something I wished to repeat.
However, when we met, I had let my guard down and decided to try something new for once. You changed everything from the first moment I tasted what you had to offer. I couldn’t believe I had gone for so long, having you so close, without giving you a chance. The walk from Wriston to Andrews didn’t seem so long anymore if I meant you were at the end of it.
In the beginning, it was exciting. Coming to see you and finding what else was new, what else I had yet to experience. Those were good times. No, great times. I’ll never forget them. But time has gone by, and I have realized that comfort zones exist for a reason. We both know you’re no good for me. What started off as a fun adventure is now an unpleasant trek. Whenever I visit you, I’m a mess after: face hot, tongue tingling, nose running, eyes watering, a storm in my stomach, my insides burning… Three drinks later, I still feel you on my lips. No amount of coffee milk or Raspberry Sprite will disappear your taste from my mouth. I keep asking myself every time: Is it worth it?
And yet, I keep coming back for seconds and thirds. Sometimes I’ll have a late lunch so I can use two or three meal credits on you. I take you back to my room constantly, hoping to have you again the following day for lunch. This needs to stop. I’m lovesick, and I’m not even in love anymore. You are the only one that can satisfy this hunger within me. I know I would be better off with one of the others; they too have their redeeming qualities. I could eat Ratty omelettes three times a day. The V-Dub has Mexican food. I have used fifty percent of my points on Sweet Leaf teas and pastries from the Blue Room. But in the end, they’re not you. They don’t have what you have…
No, stop it. I mean it–it’s over. You will never again see me in line, telling the BUDS employee that I want four pieces of yellow curry chicken. Why? Because I’ve told you over and over: we’re just not right for each other. I know that for you there are others out there, forming a line for the curry bar half an hour before it opens. You’ll be fine without me. I know this is the ultimate cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I can’t handle spicy food. I’m not used to it. I’m a picky eater, so I haven’t had it often enough to find it pleasant. I need to do what’s best for me… What’s that? Maple Sriracha Chicken you say? Okay. One last time. This is it for us, I swear! After this, it’s farewell. Forever.
