“I feel like corn,” he said.
“Ummmm….uhhhhh…ok….is that a good thing?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s good. It might even be purple corn.”
I had never heard of purple corn before, but by his intonation, I surmised that it was somehow superior to regular corn. Still, the meaning of “feeling like corn” eludes me. The different facets of the mind and the fact that we cannot truly mentally map our own thought processes to those of others or really truly know what and how people are thinking and why people are thinking it–all of this fascinates me greatly. How unique are our experiences? How much is nature vs. nurture vs. the sequential accumulation of events interacting with chemicals and context that influence the trajectory of our lives and our ability to understand our place in the world? Epistemology seems noble and yet so fruitless. Is anyone ever going to figure this shit out?
Anyway, back to corn. I wonder how many people in the world would describe their emotional state and being as “feeling like corn” and have that be a good thing. I just took a bite of truffle popcorn, and that feels pretty good. Somehow, I don’t think that is the feeling of corn.
So let’s think about the discourse on corn in general. When I think about corn, my first associations go back to corn niblets from childhood, likely mixed with peas. Then there was the standard elementary school origins of America tale of Thanksgiving, the way pilgrims and Indians came together post-Mayflower landing to break bread (was there even bread?) and share corn. The story of maize’s proliferation across the globe figured into tales of genetics and evolution. Maize was domesticated 7,000 years ago from Mexican grass only to be transported from the New World to Spain by Columbus in 1493. It was robust enough to quickly spread to Germany, Nigeria, the tropics, and the Middle East.
Today, we talk about the ills of genetically-modified corn, the corn subsidies that fuel our economy, and the overabundance of corn production that results in massive waste in the U.S. At least, that is the story I tell myself. Some surprising products made with corn include toothpaste, which contains a corn derivative called sorbitol; yogurt, salad dressing, and many other sweetish products that use corn syrup as a substitute for sugar (oh, the soda outside the U.S. tasted so good…in the days when I used to actually drink soda); blushes and eye shadows; vitamin D in enriched milk; shampoo and conditioner, which contain citric acid, which is also made from corn. The list goes on.
What are my personal feelings about corn? I associate it most probably with periodic family trips to KFC. My dad would eat the corn while I would grimace. Corn on the cob grew on me over time, especially white corn, which my ex-boyfriend and I used to eat during the summer, during times when cooking and being independent in any way was such a novelty that every moment of freedom was new and enjoyed. The days when I used to feel like I was playing grownup. Going back even further, I now remember the corncob holders that would be strewn in drawers in my kitchen. It was curious because we really never had corn in the house. And yet they were as randomly and innocently placed, as if used, like the many golf tees that also seemed to appear in non-obvious places.
What this makes me realize though is how much food brings comfort and familiarity, stitching together moments across your life and remaining stable. Corn was always corn! It may have been scientifically engineered to be bigger, but the platonic ideal of corn remains the same across time and experience.
OM. My meditation on corn ends. I hope I write something a bit more relevant and coherent in the future.
Discomfort Woman 