How It Began-Simmering My Rage

Story time.

Back in 2023, I was in a phase. I used to shave my head bi-weekly with a Wahl shaver I bought from London Drugs, wear the same Gildan t-shirts and Muji cargo pants practically every day (I owned maybe 20 articles of clothing, max), and eat the exact same meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was my minimalistic ritual, something I took a strange pride in, and I honestly didn't care who judged or commented on my odd, monk-like habits.

My wife was pretty much my complete opposite then – definitely a connoisseur of finer things. She frequented Tiffany's more often than I attended art exhibitions and definitely preferred dining in aesthetically pleasing establishments. So, it must have come as quite a shock when she saw the state of my closet and witnessed me eating nothing but egg and rice for a solid week. I remember seeing her darting her eyes around in disbelief, but it didn't faze me at the time. My mind was set; I was fully committed to dying on that hill.

One day, we were watching "21 Jump Street" – I was trying to educate her on the subtle grandeur of North American humour – when she suddenly asked, "Why don't you like yourself?" This took me completely by surprise, especially since my eyes were glued to the screen, watching Jonah Hill pretending a baton was his penis. I looked over at her, giving her a chance to maybe rethink the question. I definitely liked myself, thank you very much – years of therapy had helped with that. (Self-reflection note: A period involving psychedelics had, in its own way, helped me accept things like the unique pattern of dots on my face as features, not flaws.)