111 Ashan, 724
.
His hunger was insistent, but that didn't take from the fact that he was extremely happy to have found a place that could quell the anger in his stomach. He had just pulled down on the restaurant's front door handle, and lo and behold, was immediately welcomed by an utterly magnificent universe filled with spices and sweets and other equally pleasant smells. This wasn't to mention the natural atmospheric comfort that wrapped invisible arms around his torso and would decidedly chose to not let go.
This place was a sanctuary. This restaurant, building, whatever have you- was a place of tremendous contentment. It was almost as though Kotton had stepped into a new world comprised entirely of peace and calm. The feelings around him were harmonious in beatitude as the temperature had turned from muggy and unbearable to exceptionally cool and dry.
But 'too good to be true' wasn't just a fable he knew of; he would make sure to look at the restaurant as a whole before making any important judgements of its character. It was difficult since he was still recoiling from being blindsided by its esthetics but he ground down and went forth to assess the value of the establishment- and it definitely had value. It had adequate climate control- fans, open windows, a sorcerer or two maybe attributing to the influx of heat and barring it from the rest of the room. He rapt his knuckles against the door he had just entered and found it to feel not follow, but mighty solid as if crafted from high quality tree. He had never been properly taught how to appraise anything, but he knew a thing or two about preference, more specifically about his preferences. And to not be sweating or shivering was a plus. So was being surrounded by high quality structures- was that actual marble? This place was fine. He couldn't even feel the air from outside seeping in through the invisible gap between door and frame. With longing, he wished his front door did that. Every night there was a small draft that would raise the hairs on the back of his neck as he tried to sleep off one on the living room couch. He really should have that looked at.
A waiter briskly strode to Kotton as he was still tangled up in the luxuriousness of the restaurant. “May I help you to a table, sir?” he asked kindly, eyeing the young man with slightly more suspicion than interest.
The aspiring nurse knew not what to say. He barely noticed the narrowing of the waiter's eyes as he judged him. Was his attire too formal? Was he still dripping sweat from his trek here? Was his hair greasy? He was briefly curious about the purpose of the stairs that led down at his left, but the waiter was quick to clear up any confusion. “To our wine cellar, sir.”
He had to collect his thoughts after they had gone off their leash and began rambling about the potential story he could have written about a mysterious body that had been laid to waste underneath the gravel of a long-forgotten cellar. It took a moment, but he was eventually brought back to. “Just one,” he announced, relieved that he hadn't foolishly said he was here for a meal. This was a restaurant, no?
The waiter, who appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties with cropped brown hair, naturally tanned skin and ever glowing blue eyes, smiled at Kotton before opening his arms in a sign of welcome. He waved to be followed and led Kotton to a seat cushioned by a mossy green, velvet pillow. He took his seat at the table before taking in his surroundings. He still wasn't done admiring the view. The walls were covered in pallid wallpaper. This was a little less fancy than having painted them. He knew this because he had been broached by the topic of either painting his walls or applying cheap wallpaper to make them appear to be more sophisticated than they really were. The wallpaper the restaurant used was most unappealing to a man such as himself, but he didn't share his opinion.
The waiter had left him to be seated for only a moment before returning. This confused the young man. Shouldn’t he have gone to look in on other guests? It wasn’t until moments later that Kotton realised he wasn’t being looked at with condescension, but rather because his nose was the same colour as that of a bruised apple. He wouldn’t put it past him that dried blood was still plastered across his nostril canals.
Kotton felt like he needed to say something to end this awkward staring contest, so he made a completely daft and highly unbelievable story. He hoped this would be enough to either distract the waiter or discourage him from continuing with his incessant glare. Making up a story wasn't necessarily a lie- something he never wanted to express due to his beliefs, but he was also not about to crumble under the spell of discomfort. So he spoke about a man (him) having tripped on a stray animal (Imogen) whilst trying to protect someone's (his own) pet (Spirit). At the end, he bowed his head with the attempt of escaping the anxiety that was quickly beginning to smother him.
But the waiter remained at his side.
This was beginning to be more than uncomfortable and Kotton was a fine example of being easily embarrassed, made inelegant and overall rusty at keeping a backbone in any scenario. The fact that he was still cognizant, much less vocal, was a feat in itself. He had even managed to raise his head to look back up at the waiter. It was there that he found the waiter had his hand outstretched with the patience of waiting for something to fill it.
It was obvious to him then. The waiter was seeking gratitude for having guided him to a table. Unaware of the policy, or the culture of tipping, Kotton subconsciously enabled himself to sanction a few coins from his pocket. He placed them hesitantly into the waiter’s hand. Was it enough? Was it too much? He didn’t know, because all he received in response was a blank expression and monotone, “it is much appreciated” before he was finally left alone.
Kotton began to experience intrusive thoughts that were no doubt aided by the spike of adrenaline that had begun flooding his veins after such an awkward experience. He was also still riled up after the events that had transpired earlier. His heart was a blanket, sucking in all the heat that came from feelings of resentment and grief and uncertainty. He thought he had cleared his mind using earlier but apparently that wasn’t the case. So he was left with intrusive thoughts which were thoughts his counsellor had explained to him were disturbing thoughts or images that came without warning and may or may not refuse to go away. And, such as their definition suggested, the intrusive thoughts he had were resilient and uncouth.
It was all so overwhelming but they were just thoughts and, unless acted on (which he wouldn’t), they would remain just thoughts. Kotton briskly repurposed their existence by stuffing them into a secular, confidential section in his mind. He made sure he swallowed the key. Fortunately, as quickly as they had manifested, the intrusions dissolved. Instead of continuing to worry over them, he used this opportunity to meditate. He had used mantra meditation earlier, but now it seemed he needed to practise another form. He had luckily brought with him his journal to which he referred to.
There, inscribed in the neat handwriting of a young scholar, was the meditative technique known as ‘metta meditation’. This form of mindfulness encouraged bringing awareness to the people and situations in your life. You were not to view thoughts as negative or positive, but simply as they were. His therapist had used the term ‘dichotomous thinking’ which was, in layman's terms, a thought pattern of ‘black and white’. Whilst he valued distinction between fact and fiction, sometimes he preferred the grey.
He had unfortunately not written down any examples of this ‘metta meditation’, but felt confident in how he would approach this technique. Meditation, after all, was a very general, ‘one size does not fit all’ concept.
The first thing he did was bring forth his attention to how he felt. He searched his brain for an appropriate term to define exactly how he felt. After several tedious seconds, he finally came up with the word ‘overwhelmed’. He instantly wanted to label this word as negative but looked to his journal and found a page declaring, ‘The use of negative labels influences how we process information and make decisions. They trigger cognitive biases, such as confirmation bias, where people tend to seek and interpret information that confirms existing beliefs, while ignoring or discounting all other evidence.’
Kotton applied this information to what he knew of black and white thinking. When he labelled something, did it change anything? Did how he feel change? Did his behaviour? The answer was usually no, it didn’t. So by assuming being overwhelmed was a negative thing, it limited all the positive things that could become of the feeling. For example, being overwhelmed allowed your body and mind to understand its limits. Otherwise your body wouldn't know when it had enough, thereby leading to potential health problems such as exhaustion. The same could be said about anxiety. Anxiety, whilst a generally unpopular feeling, gave people the realization of probable danger.
It was easy to fall into a trap of reactivity. Being lectured about something was often received with feelings of frustration or anger, when it was important to stop and self-reflect on whether or not being lectured was just a form of constructive criticism. Being lectured could supply opportunities for growth, give you scenarios to work on self-advocation, and so on.
Kotton was already feeling the positive effects the longer he used this form of meditation. He had become so transfixed with how it kept his mind moving that he almost didn’t register the waiter’s return to his table.
He had pen and notepad in hand, ready to jot down any and all culinary requests his guest gave him.
Once he had time to collect himself, the young man took a deep breath, looked down at the menu to make sure what it was he wanted to order and said, “I’d like to owderw the Spwing Hawvest Tea, the Spinach Tomato Towtellini and, if you could, toss a bit of youw Mawinated Gwilled Tofu.” Folding up his menu, he looked at the man to make sure his order was understood. The waiter nodded, took the menu from his guest’s hand and sauntered in the direction of the kitchen.
Kotton hadn’t realised that in his state of solitude, he had closed his eyes until there was a tap on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open. The waiter had returned with a tray containing his order. That was inhumanly quick!
The tortellini looked delicious, the smell gently caressing his tender nose. The appetiser of marinated grilled tofu appeared to be cooked evenly, tossed onto the tortellini with great care. His tea was steaming over a tall, lavender mug. The waiter set the tray on the table, and left him in peace only after cautiously pushing the cheque along the edge of the table.
There was one final growl from his stomach before Kotton started slamming down the food. The marinated tofu was tender and practically melted in his mouth. The sauce dripped down his chin and stung his chapped lips. The pasta was the most exquisite taste he had ever let his tongue touch and it was all because he had taken the time to reward himself. He only stopped gorging on his food for a split second to re-hydrate. And soon his stomach was full, his meal vanished. The only thing left to address was the bill. Kotton timidly glanced over at it, fully expecting it to be outrageously expensive. It was, but it paled in comparison to just how famished he had been. He left his money at the table and made to hobble back to his home.
The stairs leading up to his front door weren’t as much of a challenge as they had been when he had left, but he was still just as tired, if not more now. It was difficult bending his knees; his calves refused to cooperate, but finally he had reached his bed, albeit nearly crawling. Eyes half closed, he kicked off his shoes before falling onto his mattress. Immediately after hitting the pillow he entered into the realm of unconsciousness- mind clear and belly full.
This place was a sanctuary. This restaurant, building, whatever have you- was a place of tremendous contentment. It was almost as though Kotton had stepped into a new world comprised entirely of peace and calm. The feelings around him were harmonious in beatitude as the temperature had turned from muggy and unbearable to exceptionally cool and dry.
But 'too good to be true' wasn't just a fable he knew of; he would make sure to look at the restaurant as a whole before making any important judgements of its character. It was difficult since he was still recoiling from being blindsided by its esthetics but he ground down and went forth to assess the value of the establishment- and it definitely had value. It had adequate climate control- fans, open windows, a sorcerer or two maybe attributing to the influx of heat and barring it from the rest of the room. He rapt his knuckles against the door he had just entered and found it to feel not follow, but mighty solid as if crafted from high quality tree. He had never been properly taught how to appraise anything, but he knew a thing or two about preference, more specifically about his preferences. And to not be sweating or shivering was a plus. So was being surrounded by high quality structures- was that actual marble? This place was fine. He couldn't even feel the air from outside seeping in through the invisible gap between door and frame. With longing, he wished his front door did that. Every night there was a small draft that would raise the hairs on the back of his neck as he tried to sleep off one on the living room couch. He really should have that looked at.
A waiter briskly strode to Kotton as he was still tangled up in the luxuriousness of the restaurant. “May I help you to a table, sir?” he asked kindly, eyeing the young man with slightly more suspicion than interest.
The aspiring nurse knew not what to say. He barely noticed the narrowing of the waiter's eyes as he judged him. Was his attire too formal? Was he still dripping sweat from his trek here? Was his hair greasy? He was briefly curious about the purpose of the stairs that led down at his left, but the waiter was quick to clear up any confusion. “To our wine cellar, sir.”
He had to collect his thoughts after they had gone off their leash and began rambling about the potential story he could have written about a mysterious body that had been laid to waste underneath the gravel of a long-forgotten cellar. It took a moment, but he was eventually brought back to. “Just one,” he announced, relieved that he hadn't foolishly said he was here for a meal. This was a restaurant, no?
The waiter, who appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties with cropped brown hair, naturally tanned skin and ever glowing blue eyes, smiled at Kotton before opening his arms in a sign of welcome. He waved to be followed and led Kotton to a seat cushioned by a mossy green, velvet pillow. He took his seat at the table before taking in his surroundings. He still wasn't done admiring the view. The walls were covered in pallid wallpaper. This was a little less fancy than having painted them. He knew this because he had been broached by the topic of either painting his walls or applying cheap wallpaper to make them appear to be more sophisticated than they really were. The wallpaper the restaurant used was most unappealing to a man such as himself, but he didn't share his opinion.
The waiter had left him to be seated for only a moment before returning. This confused the young man. Shouldn’t he have gone to look in on other guests? It wasn’t until moments later that Kotton realised he wasn’t being looked at with condescension, but rather because his nose was the same colour as that of a bruised apple. He wouldn’t put it past him that dried blood was still plastered across his nostril canals.
Kotton felt like he needed to say something to end this awkward staring contest, so he made a completely daft and highly unbelievable story. He hoped this would be enough to either distract the waiter or discourage him from continuing with his incessant glare. Making up a story wasn't necessarily a lie- something he never wanted to express due to his beliefs, but he was also not about to crumble under the spell of discomfort. So he spoke about a man (him) having tripped on a stray animal (Imogen) whilst trying to protect someone's (his own) pet (Spirit). At the end, he bowed his head with the attempt of escaping the anxiety that was quickly beginning to smother him.
But the waiter remained at his side.
This was beginning to be more than uncomfortable and Kotton was a fine example of being easily embarrassed, made inelegant and overall rusty at keeping a backbone in any scenario. The fact that he was still cognizant, much less vocal, was a feat in itself. He had even managed to raise his head to look back up at the waiter. It was there that he found the waiter had his hand outstretched with the patience of waiting for something to fill it.
It was obvious to him then. The waiter was seeking gratitude for having guided him to a table. Unaware of the policy, or the culture of tipping, Kotton subconsciously enabled himself to sanction a few coins from his pocket. He placed them hesitantly into the waiter’s hand. Was it enough? Was it too much? He didn’t know, because all he received in response was a blank expression and monotone, “it is much appreciated” before he was finally left alone.
Kotton began to experience intrusive thoughts that were no doubt aided by the spike of adrenaline that had begun flooding his veins after such an awkward experience. He was also still riled up after the events that had transpired earlier. His heart was a blanket, sucking in all the heat that came from feelings of resentment and grief and uncertainty. He thought he had cleared his mind using earlier but apparently that wasn’t the case. So he was left with intrusive thoughts which were thoughts his counsellor had explained to him were disturbing thoughts or images that came without warning and may or may not refuse to go away. And, such as their definition suggested, the intrusive thoughts he had were resilient and uncouth.
It was all so overwhelming but they were just thoughts and, unless acted on (which he wouldn’t), they would remain just thoughts. Kotton briskly repurposed their existence by stuffing them into a secular, confidential section in his mind. He made sure he swallowed the key. Fortunately, as quickly as they had manifested, the intrusions dissolved. Instead of continuing to worry over them, he used this opportunity to meditate. He had used mantra meditation earlier, but now it seemed he needed to practise another form. He had luckily brought with him his journal to which he referred to.
There, inscribed in the neat handwriting of a young scholar, was the meditative technique known as ‘metta meditation’. This form of mindfulness encouraged bringing awareness to the people and situations in your life. You were not to view thoughts as negative or positive, but simply as they were. His therapist had used the term ‘dichotomous thinking’ which was, in layman's terms, a thought pattern of ‘black and white’. Whilst he valued distinction between fact and fiction, sometimes he preferred the grey.
He had unfortunately not written down any examples of this ‘metta meditation’, but felt confident in how he would approach this technique. Meditation, after all, was a very general, ‘one size does not fit all’ concept.
The first thing he did was bring forth his attention to how he felt. He searched his brain for an appropriate term to define exactly how he felt. After several tedious seconds, he finally came up with the word ‘overwhelmed’. He instantly wanted to label this word as negative but looked to his journal and found a page declaring, ‘The use of negative labels influences how we process information and make decisions. They trigger cognitive biases, such as confirmation bias, where people tend to seek and interpret information that confirms existing beliefs, while ignoring or discounting all other evidence.’
Kotton applied this information to what he knew of black and white thinking. When he labelled something, did it change anything? Did how he feel change? Did his behaviour? The answer was usually no, it didn’t. So by assuming being overwhelmed was a negative thing, it limited all the positive things that could become of the feeling. For example, being overwhelmed allowed your body and mind to understand its limits. Otherwise your body wouldn't know when it had enough, thereby leading to potential health problems such as exhaustion. The same could be said about anxiety. Anxiety, whilst a generally unpopular feeling, gave people the realization of probable danger.
It was easy to fall into a trap of reactivity. Being lectured about something was often received with feelings of frustration or anger, when it was important to stop and self-reflect on whether or not being lectured was just a form of constructive criticism. Being lectured could supply opportunities for growth, give you scenarios to work on self-advocation, and so on.
Kotton was already feeling the positive effects the longer he used this form of meditation. He had become so transfixed with how it kept his mind moving that he almost didn’t register the waiter’s return to his table.
He had pen and notepad in hand, ready to jot down any and all culinary requests his guest gave him.
Once he had time to collect himself, the young man took a deep breath, looked down at the menu to make sure what it was he wanted to order and said, “I’d like to owderw the Spwing Hawvest Tea, the Spinach Tomato Towtellini and, if you could, toss a bit of youw Mawinated Gwilled Tofu.” Folding up his menu, he looked at the man to make sure his order was understood. The waiter nodded, took the menu from his guest’s hand and sauntered in the direction of the kitchen.
Kotton hadn’t realised that in his state of solitude, he had closed his eyes until there was a tap on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open. The waiter had returned with a tray containing his order. That was inhumanly quick!
The tortellini looked delicious, the smell gently caressing his tender nose. The appetiser of marinated grilled tofu appeared to be cooked evenly, tossed onto the tortellini with great care. His tea was steaming over a tall, lavender mug. The waiter set the tray on the table, and left him in peace only after cautiously pushing the cheque along the edge of the table.
There was one final growl from his stomach before Kotton started slamming down the food. The marinated tofu was tender and practically melted in his mouth. The sauce dripped down his chin and stung his chapped lips. The pasta was the most exquisite taste he had ever let his tongue touch and it was all because he had taken the time to reward himself. He only stopped gorging on his food for a split second to re-hydrate. And soon his stomach was full, his meal vanished. The only thing left to address was the bill. Kotton timidly glanced over at it, fully expecting it to be outrageously expensive. It was, but it paled in comparison to just how famished he had been. He left his money at the table and made to hobble back to his home.
The stairs leading up to his front door weren’t as much of a challenge as they had been when he had left, but he was still just as tired, if not more now. It was difficult bending his knees; his calves refused to cooperate, but finally he had reached his bed, albeit nearly crawling. Eyes half closed, he kicked off his shoes before falling onto his mattress. Immediately after hitting the pillow he entered into the realm of unconsciousness- mind clear and belly full.