It all started with chopping onions. I knew my time was limited before my eyes would begin to burn. I remained calm at first, convincing myself that —even though there's no dissuading an onion from its overpowering nature, even when frozen— I would resist, no matter how smothered I became. I'm not easily deterred. Besides, it wasn't the first time I had surrendered to the reactionary spirit of an onion. And then it happened. Their concealed, dispersing superpower began to destabilize my senses, overwhelming my eyesight. Knife still in hand, I groped blindly for the faucet. The fresh water mollified the burning, clamping down the urge to throw the onion out the window instead of pardoning it. "Those who love you well, will make you cry" — such is the paradox of non-restrictive diets and being conservative when cooking.

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