Vegemite, some people hate it or love it. There isn’t a middle ground. It’s a salty, bitter, black concoction of a spread. Best served diluted with melted butter on toast. There’s an art to how people eat it, how they disguise it into something delicious. Some people smudge it on, others lather it, some mix it with avocado or hide it under cheese – but it’s all welcome. It’s just one of those things which define how some things are much better in moderation, where less is most definitely more.
I think the weirdest way I’ve had it, was in ice cream. It was Australia Day, it was on the menu, it was a novelty, how was I supposed to say now? For the curious, it was actually half decent… other than the fact it’s aftertaste was an hour of heartburn.
My dad loved Vegemite, it was an easy gift to send over to wherever he found himself. A little pot of national pride, a jar of comfort and a token of our constant thoughts. They say that a bowl of Uncle Toby’s Porridge is like a warm hug. If that was the case, I feel like a new jar to my dad was like a hug from us.
If I’m ever after something from the pantry, and my eyes run over the yellow lidded jar, my inner voice never stated and labeled it for what it was, “Vegemite”, it very much cautiously warned, “That’s dads”.
There’s still a jar in the pantry, it wouldn’t be an Australian pantry if it didn’t. My point I’m getting at, is… how quickly something so sentimental and comforting can turn in to unnerving and a foundation for anxiety. The idea of it gives me a brain freeze like its novel ice cream form, burns at my insides like its heart burn after taste. But I still feel its warmth, only its a different warmth. It used to bring joy, and act as a message of love. Now its just sentimental, a soft reminder – which now sits harshly stagnant.
When I started writing this post, it was raining. I like to think it’s common to find its ‘pitter-patters’ soothing and welcome. Not now though, for no reason. The vegemite, I can point and unmask its origin. But the other usual comforts in my life, are slowly becoming upsetting for no reason. Maybe its because I feel like ‘comfortable’ is a feeling that I shouldn’t be experiencing, or maybe it would be wrong of me to feel? Or maybe its just a warning sign, it’s the canary in the mine giving me the heads up that these uncomfortable feelings are just the beginning… comforting thought, no?
People say some things never change, and I guess this is true, in some respects. But in the end, I feel it’s safe to say, that everything changes. They might retain the same symbolism, or hold similar aspects which continue. Context though, context is ever changing. Perception, driven by the onlooker, is always changing, and an objects definition is only defined by the senses that view it…
Until next time x