The cup of hot Milo rattles in its saucer as I take it out of the tray; the soft-boiled eggs wobble like jelly as I set them down on the table as well.
I’ve been in Singapore for 2 years and I still don’t know how to eat the two poached eggs that come with the traditional breakfast. Do I bathe it in soy sauce, or dip the bread in it? And how watery should it be before I can complain?
My hands tremble as I take a sip out of the cup, pursing my lips around the fat rim so as not to burn my mouth. I spear the egg yolk with my spoon, breaking the thin white stuff holding it together and spilling yellow all over the shallow bowl, so that now I have soup instead of egg, and I can scoop and slurp urgently, because it’s not as hot as my drink.
My stomach rejoices as I swallow the first few spoonfulls. Is it possible to actually feel food as it is being digested? My migraine drains away, its heavy vise-like grip loosening its tight, unrelenting hold on my brain until then. Its as if thick rubber bands that have been wound around my head are being taken off one by one, and the relief is immediate. What bliss! What sweet release! What eye-opening euphoria!
Fasting is relevant and important and everyone should try it. But if I can only say one good thing about it, it is this: nothing else will let you experience finding such exquisite pleasures in something as simple as a spoonful of half cooked egg.