Every time the words, “everything will change” leave my mouth, the concept seems so big, so out of my reach, so beyond my physical body, that I know it as impossible. I find myself lost in the future possibilities of who I will become, where I will be—happy, successful, and overcome with joy that I have finally arrived. That she, heaven herself, has appeared at my door to let me know that I’ve been accepted—that the accomplishments I so badly longed for are waiting for me.

My imagination runs wild while my physical body feels the ramifications of needing to be THAT person. A person that is not held back by their internal thoughts. A person that does not believe that I am not good enough, or queer enough, or cool enough, or mixed enough, or that any facet of me, that makes me me, is not enough.That I know those thoughts not be the truth. When I cook for people, I pray that no one will show up. When I take photos, I hope the subject will unexpectedly flake. When I write, I draft and draft and draft.

“How do I measure a blanket of blue that hangs over a subculture?”

The future me would be teaching the philosophies I had learned with credibility. It’d be like all the questioning never happened. As if the person that stands before my subordinates never suffered and it all came easy.

In the kitchen, I think critically. I shower a head of cauliflower, as if to wash its hair. I think about the time someone once asked me, “how often do you experience sadness?” But what is the barometer of health in the queer community? We have been conditioned to believe that unconditional love does not exist. How do I measure a blanket of blue that hangs over a subculture? No metric system or Kinsey Scale can accurately punctuate the experience of feeling like a freak. Is that why I don’t feel up to par with those around me? Is that why my mind echoes a sentence in examination of social acceptance? I am not the person I wanted to be. I hoped to be. I wished to be. And I have no idea who that person is. But I stand here, in this kitchen, chopping, trying to be present.

“Everything will change.” I tell myself.

Creamy Cauliflower Pasta

1 can coconut milk
1 1/2 tbs nutritional yeast

Zest of a lemon
1 bag of a thick pasta
A pinch or two of chili flakes
Generous amount of salt and pepper
1 c salted pasta water

Olive oil
Head of cauliflower, sliced and chopped if pieces need to be smaller
2 shallots, sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbs capers
Olive oil

In a skillet heat up some olive oil over low heat and add in your minced garlic. Cook for less than a minute.
Turn your heat up to medium and add shallots, cauliflower, and some salt. You want your cauliflower to shrink in size by half so cook it for about 10 minutes, alter heat as needed.
In a heavily salted pot of water, boil your pasta.
In your skillet, add your can of coconut milk, lemon zest, capers, chili flakes, nutritional yeast, salt and pepper (don’t be afraid of salt here but keep in mind that you’re going to add a cup of salted pasta water). Combine well and allow to simmer.
Once your pasta is al dente, add pasta water to skillet and drained pasta. Allow your sauce to thicken and coat the noodles.
Serve and enjoy!