|
For lunch today I went in search of veg, and maybe tofu, at one of the thousands of Chinese restaurants that surround my office. I walked into the restaurant of my choice. In the entry way were four or five 30- or 40-gallon aquariums. They had no gravel, no aeration, no plants. Some were empty. One had several perch swimming around. And one had water at the top, and so many catfish on the bottom that they were stacked upon each other. They looked like so many large, smooth, gray stones arranged in someone's garden pond, but it was sickening. Just the thought of something being kept alive for some human's gastronomic pleasure makes me cry and/or sends me into a rage.
I've always had a serious problem projecting my feelings onto animals. Seriously. I've worked on it in therapy, but it's been years and it seems all I learned is gone. I saw those fish and a wash of helplessness and rage and desperation rushed over me. Those poor fish... how they must feel... etc. And these words have been ringing in my head ever since --
Nothing should die so I can eat.
(I told Mrs. V. tonight, I'm sorry, but I just can't eat meat anymore. I apologized because I do a lot of the cooking and I won't be able to cook for her if she wants meat. She understands completely, but still I feel bad. She doesn't like any of the substitutes I've had so far. I don't know how we're going to handle two different diets around here.)
|