I’d been reading about boy insemination in the Sambia, Papau New Guinea. As a ritual rite of passage in this war-torn enclave, boys aged 8 to 10 were taken from their mothers to become men. This ritual included things a Westerner couldn’t fathom doing to a child - shoving sugar cane up their noses until they poured blood, forcing them to **** flutes to mimic *******, and ultimately, swallowing “male milk,” their sponsors’ *******, which according to tradition will rid them of their evil mothers’ poison and make them warriors.

Heavy ****.

You know the response that happens in your body when you experience the luxury of your food begin too hot? You kind of breath in and out, rapidly, mouth open, until the food cools down? Sitting in the cafeteria, eating a bowl of vegetables and quinoa created in a vegan space certifying no cross-contamination, I found myself making this face. This stupid, *****, “oh no my mouth may feel weird for a day or two” reflex that immediately made me sick.

I decided to close my mouth. To lean into the fleeting, no-more-than-inconvenient pain instead of running from it.

I think it may have changed my life.