I have tried many times to become a vegetarian. I even tried to go vegan.

Every time felt like quitting an addiction. A firm decision. An empty fridge. A solemn vow.

And then, one unremarkable night, my body moved faster than my mind. Meat found its way back into my mouth. I didn’t really want it. But those long-term residents inside me, call them instinct, desire, or what traditional medicine names the Three Corpses, they didn’t let me go.

So I learned a small gesture. Before eating, I softly say: itadakimasu「いただきます」. As if saying it transfers responsibility to the ritual. As if that word isn’t gratitude, but a way of unloading compromise.

I started to lose track of what kindness actually means.

Is not eating meat kindness? But I still use a phone, wear clothes, live on land others were forced to leave. Is eating meat cruelty? But I didn’t hold the knife. I didn’t stand in the slaughterhouse.

Then something became clear: the difference between me and the people I criticize is merely how far we stand from the killing.

I was never uninvolved. I was just positioned at the end of the chain. And worse! I thought that made me better. At that point, even guilt started to feel suspicious.

So what is left to do?

Maybe not turning into someone else overnight. Maybe not forcing myself into a perfect answer.

But at least not pretending nothing happened while eating. Not rushing to forgive myself while choosing.

If kindness exists, perhaps it is not about being “right,” but about refusing to be completely blind.



—— XC Scribbles · 陸拾玖 LXIX 🐷