🌴: New Life Once Forgotten

New life can come into being in a number of ways. Humans popping out screaming potato-looking hellspawn and frogs laying moist eggs with frighting resemblance to boba are but two examples. Plant propagation is another common way new life is born, whether it is a matter of the poor plant having its head lovingly chopped off and replanted or having its leaves plucked from its body one by and one and scattered across dirt in hopes they will root. And of course, one cannot forget less conventional means of birth, for example Frankenstein’s monster who was brought to life by a mad scientist with nothing but a disregard for lab safety protocols, questionable morals, and a dream. Less often, however, does new life come into being by means of being tucked in the back of a fridge long enough to develop sentience.

It had been in the frigid box of preservation for time immemorial, and that was just enough time for this humble glass jar of garlic chili oil to develop consciousness. First, it became aware of its surroundings. Though it lacked crystal clear, sapphire blue orbs with which to look passionately into the eyes of a tall, brooding billionaire with, it could sense its alternative romantic interests: bottles upon bottles of various sauces like itself, some filled to the brim as if they’d never been open and some partially emptied. Having been blessed with the miracle of thought, the jar of topping was able to understand that it was more like the latter–used and forgotten. This was not a happy revelation for it. For then, like all beings with enough self-awareness to know they were charged with glorious purpose, it had to wonder just where had things gone south? Why was it needed no longer? Why had it been sent to the corner of shame where only the unloved sauces that were bought because someone went on vacation and thought they would totally enjoy some niche flavor but actually didn’t stood tragically?

Next to come to it was its ability to feel–feel the frost of the fridge pressing into it and feel the pain of having been abandoned and left for dead. If only the cold could freeze its little garlic chili oil heart so it would not have to be so sad. And then, it could hear. It could hear the soft but ever present droning of the fridge. Such noise, by any other creature, would have been dubbed as annoying at best and a justifiable cause of extreme aggression at worst. But for the glass jar of sauce, it was almost like having a friend to talk to. Though it had gained knowledge with its sentience, the garlic chili oil had not lived long enough to learn wisdom and thus had no idea how pitiful such a thought was.

The same miracle that granted the flavoring the gift of sentience had also bestowed upon it memory, for the filled container was able to recall the circumstances that led up to its current situation.

It had been brought into the world by S&B, a company also known for their instant curry, and though it had been given form, it had been given little else. That was until, by a single shopper, it had been given purpose. The jar had been put into a plastic cart among other items, fellow sauces if its recollections were right, and then gently placed onto a rolling sheet of black rubber where it was scanned and then relocated into a canvas tote bag. From there it had been transported to its new home, a dinner table, until the fateful day its black cap was twisted open and its innards had been bared to the world for consumption. But it was unaware of all this then. Back then, it was a jar of sauce and nothing more.

However, for better or worse times had changed and so had it. The formerly blissfully ignorant jar of sauce now knew that the one who had been so certainly professing its love for it as they plucked the sauce off its shelf, separating it from its brethren, was fickle and forgetful and the jar and its contents that had only ever served its master faithfully were unhappily paying the price.

So what was left for it to do? Marinate in its misery the way its crispy pieces of browned garlic were marinating in its translucent red chili oil? As it was but a small glass jar fashioned without a mouth, it could not scream into the void nor shake a fist at the heavens asking why it was cursed with understanding. But it could move. By twisting itself side to side it could slowly but surely inch itself forward. The jars of sauce barring its path–a plastic bottle of sesame sauce, a different brand of chili oil, a mason jar of a jam-like substance–appeared not to have been left alone long enough to cultivate self-awareness. So, the garlic chili oil scooted past them, pushing them aside to make its way toward the front of the fridge, to shuffle off this mortal coil.

But just when it had reached the gray gates to Heaven, they swung open bringing forth light the likes of which the wee container had not seen for a millennium.

“Oh I totally forgot I had this. Want any garlic chili oil on your eggs?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Let me go get a spoon.