In italian cusine, as in many other cusines around the world, there is no sauce ever to start without a chopped onion goldened in a little pond of olive oil.
Of course onions are aware of their importance and they make us cry as a sign of gratitude to such a multilayered food god. They are so fond that they had always wanted to be the first to jump in the sprinkling oil, until a very small revolution happened.
The facts are reported according to the diary of the revolutionary, thus, they should be taken as they are: one point of view of how the events developed.
Dear onions of the world,
I write this diary to report the facts of the revolution, in the eventuality that media, journalists and politicians might change the story and use it for their own propaganda.
I have decided to take a stand against all those of us who wrongly believe we are gods and thus think we deserve to be thrown first in the burning hot pan of hell. I start this revolution fully conscious that my act will not go unnoticed and that by one change we can hope to live in a better and fairer world.
Day 1:
I have been already three days in the comfortable dark corner of C's kitchen. Hours are very long to pass and I often get lost in thoughts. I'd rather be with my mind then talk with my fellow prisoners. I have already wrote four poems and calculated the statistical probability of my layers being equal or more than those of the other onions, based on our width and height. I stopped with the calculations when I realized they will not be helpful for my revolution.
Later in the afternoon a human entered the kitchen singing, clearly in the mood of chopping some onions. As the human opened the cupboard to grab one of us, I turned over as to show my ass to him. I call this my first revolutionary act. He must have realized my nature is not keen to submission, as he picked one other onion, paler than me.
Day 2:
The situation is becoming risky as there are only two of us left in the basket which, according to my understanding, means that I either get taken soon or a bit later. Eventually I will be taken. Those next hours are essential in defining my strategy and the success of my actions.
Dog opened the cupboard and started sniffing. It did not like our smell; in fact, I have nothing against dog. It is too stupid to become a threat.
I fell asleep early after lunch time because the planning is making my head burn. When I opened my eyes again, my last fellow prisoner was gone. I am now swimming in regret, for having let my guard down today.
At midnight I started to slowly push the basket from one side to turn it upside down. It is heavy and dusty, so I keep being annoyed by the dirt in my eyes. I prospect it will take until sunrise to turn it over. This is my ultimate escape chance.
Day 3: I successfully turned over the basket and rolled until behind a kitchen paper box. I am sure they will not find me here.
At lunch time all C's members were reunited in the kitchen. It seems like it could be Sunday, judging by their relaxed faces and vivid discussions. It was so loud and confused I could not grasp the meaning of their conversations, but I am quite sure I have heard the word onion being pronounced with anger. Someone opened the cupboard and said:"There are no more onions". To which a female voice, sounding like a beautiful song of victory, replied:"Ok, do the sauce without then!", which to me meant:" Hasta la victoria siempre!".
This is how facts truly went and how I became the first revolutionary onion.
I hope my act will inspire generations to come to fight for change!
Of course onions are aware of their importance and they make us cry as a sign of gratitude to such a multilayered food god. They are so fond that they had always wanted to be the first to jump in the sprinkling oil, until a very small revolution happened.
The facts are reported according to the diary of the revolutionary, thus, they should be taken as they are: one point of view of how the events developed.
Dear onions of the world,
I write this diary to report the facts of the revolution, in the eventuality that media, journalists and politicians might change the story and use it for their own propaganda.
I have decided to take a stand against all those of us who wrongly believe we are gods and thus think we deserve to be thrown first in the burning hot pan of hell. I start this revolution fully conscious that my act will not go unnoticed and that by one change we can hope to live in a better and fairer world.
Day 1:
I have been already three days in the comfortable dark corner of C's kitchen. Hours are very long to pass and I often get lost in thoughts. I'd rather be with my mind then talk with my fellow prisoners. I have already wrote four poems and calculated the statistical probability of my layers being equal or more than those of the other onions, based on our width and height. I stopped with the calculations when I realized they will not be helpful for my revolution.
Later in the afternoon a human entered the kitchen singing, clearly in the mood of chopping some onions. As the human opened the cupboard to grab one of us, I turned over as to show my ass to him. I call this my first revolutionary act. He must have realized my nature is not keen to submission, as he picked one other onion, paler than me.
Day 2:
The situation is becoming risky as there are only two of us left in the basket which, according to my understanding, means that I either get taken soon or a bit later. Eventually I will be taken. Those next hours are essential in defining my strategy and the success of my actions.
Dog opened the cupboard and started sniffing. It did not like our smell; in fact, I have nothing against dog. It is too stupid to become a threat.
I fell asleep early after lunch time because the planning is making my head burn. When I opened my eyes again, my last fellow prisoner was gone. I am now swimming in regret, for having let my guard down today.
At midnight I started to slowly push the basket from one side to turn it upside down. It is heavy and dusty, so I keep being annoyed by the dirt in my eyes. I prospect it will take until sunrise to turn it over. This is my ultimate escape chance.
Day 3: I successfully turned over the basket and rolled until behind a kitchen paper box. I am sure they will not find me here.
At lunch time all C's members were reunited in the kitchen. It seems like it could be Sunday, judging by their relaxed faces and vivid discussions. It was so loud and confused I could not grasp the meaning of their conversations, but I am quite sure I have heard the word onion being pronounced with anger. Someone opened the cupboard and said:"There are no more onions". To which a female voice, sounding like a beautiful song of victory, replied:"Ok, do the sauce without then!", which to me meant:" Hasta la victoria siempre!".
This is how facts truly went and how I became the first revolutionary onion.
I hope my act will inspire generations to come to fight for change!
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