Confessions

This, quite frankly, terrifies me. I do not know what a blog is, or what it is supposed to be. Those who know me will say that this project of mine won't last, and they have every reason to believe it. I abhor (but, as my dear friend points out, admittedly resign to) Facebook, e-mail, instant messaging. Not until a few months ago did I know how to send a text message. I still refuse to take pictures on my cell phone.

At the root of my reservation lies a certain aversion to speed, the undigested, weightlessness. I am a deeply private person with a penchant for etching words in paper, for crafting sentences just so because they are meant for someone. I am still not sure how I feel about casting these words off into an oblivion of sorts, only to resurface on a distant screen.

So why this blog? Perhaps I write for me, out of selfishness, a desire to reflect quietly upon that cacophony of light and sound that is my life in this city. While I am unsure of many things, I am confident in my fondness -- no, love -- of food, and so I anchor my thoughts to this. As its title suggests, this blog will serve as a space for contemplating the experience of dining and all that I consume. Be forewarned: I eat a lot.

So thank you, dear reader, for your interest in my musings and your patience as I continue to shape digestus. I will try not to take myself too seriously here, as I have a tendency to do.

But I must admit that food is quite the serious matter.