‘Pulpo’
— Joyce Chong
Another octopus, but in his nets, in this house, on his tongue that still struggles with English, it is always ‘pulpo.’
Instead of something based in restrospection, this week’s story is planted firmly in the moment. At times anticipating the future, or reflective on the near-past, but determined to keep us grounded there in that kitchen. There’s a lot of universality in this story, the tiny, nagging reminder of time constantly moving past us, how we’re never quite fast enough to catch its movement. Its certainty, its consistency.
Her octopus’s spots have grown familiar, like a face.
There’s a familiarity about cooking that only brings this story and its characters closer together. The act of watching a parent cook, something done so many times over the course of a lifetime, the movements become cemented in the mind. Its accuracy only marred by the adjustments made by age and passing time. The distance between each replication small enough to be measured with a stopwatch.