there beneath the blue suburban skies

fried eggs, no ham

for reasons i have mentioned at least three times on this blog since i came to beijing, i try not to eat ham, or cured meat in any form, on a regular basis. it's not that it tastes that bad, or that i don't trust that it's pork or chicken or whatever it claims to be. i just don't like the colour, and the few times i've steeled myself to look past the ghastly pink and nibble a little at it, it has been unbelievably salty.

rachel once told me that when you study overseas eggs will become your best friends. that hasn't quite turned out true for me, but the smell of fried eggs in an enclosed space with nowhere to go does bring back fond memories: aunty lena's house in sydney, the time we first visited, when i was eight; scrambled eggs and fresh, fat white mushrooms, added in slices, made by my mother one breakfast time when we first visited london. i was twelve, and it was winter and dreadfully cold.

i think it has to be cold for the fried egg smell to bring back these memories.

i've never been much of a late-riser, and i'm thankful for it now. my favourite part of everyday is waking up before everyone else in the house, wrapping myself in my quilt, looking out of the window and daydreaming for a bit, then reading my bible.