Jozef Imrich, name worthy of Kafka, has his finger on the pulse of any irony of interest and shares his findings to keep you in-the-know with the savviest trend setters and infomaniacs.
''I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.''
-Kurt Vonnegut
My family loves to fight. Nearly every time I go for dinner with my nearest and dearest, I can expect an argument, a heated discussion, a feisty altercation. Forget sweeping things under the rug; we’re the kind of family who rips up the carpet and the floorboards beneath, digging into the foundations to see what we can find.
It has been like this for as long as I can remember. Around the dinner table as kids, debate was encouraged, which often ended with me – the younger, dumber sibling – running to my bedroom in tears. As we grew older and more evenly matched, my older brother and I would spar, criticising each other’s arguments, pointing out weak logic or flawed assumptions. Eventually, my younger brother entered the fray, along with my husband, who could argue underwater.
I think most families would benefit from a little argy-bargy over the Sunday roast.
Over time, we’ve evolved our technique, added in more listening and less pedantry, but it still occasionally ends in tears. And yet, I wouldn’t change it for the world. In fact, I think most families would benefit from a little argy-bargy over Christmas dinner or Easter lunch. No need to roast just the food!
For us, these conversations have brought us closer, helped us better understand one another. From body image to drugs, periods to politics, woke culture to work culture, we’ve gone there. These topics act like a jumping off point for deeper connection, a vehicle to uncover hidden stories that have shaped who we are. Each time we lock horns on a thorny topic, I learn something about my loved one that makes sense of their opinion. We are, after all, the sum of our experiences.
Such fights have also humbled me. It’s rare to have people who will challenge you to be better, call you out when you’re telling a story that’s biased, blinkered, or objectively incorrect. And while it’s important to surround yourself with people who align with your values and support your convictions, we also need those who will counter us with love. Partly because that counter encourages us to bolster our arguments, but also because there’s always another side to the story.
Recent research revealed that politically, Gen Zs are divided along gender lines, with young women becoming increasingly liberal while men veer more conservative. It’s easy to throw out “Andrew Tate” or “the extreme left” as reasons for this schism, but the reality is far more complicated. If we believe this is an issue – which personally I do – we must find a way to knit our society back together, one conversation at a time.
And so, as a young feminist who was educated by a liberal university, I actively work to understand views that are not always in alignment with my own. For my brothers and my husband, who are all “straight, white, cis men” living in a culture that both privileges and derides them for this fact, talking to me exposes them to ideas they might not otherwise get to hear.
When I hear stories of families unable to talk because of differences in politics or perspectives, I despair: Teens unable to communicate with their parents because neither side can listen; siblings who are so disconnected that their conversations are polite and meaningless; people whose arguments are so rigid and flimsy that disagreement becomes a form of trauma.
And honestly, I get it. Fighting with your family is tough. Things can get heated, emotional and personal.
But if you can sit in the discomfort of disagreement, if you can give others in your family the curiosity they deserve and if they can do the same for you, you might find it enriches you more than you ever imagined. You might even find that you agree on far more than you realise.
Fighting with my family has led to some of the most life-changing conversations I’ve ever had. I remember the night before my wedding, in a house full of noisy friends and family, I headed upstairs for a quiet moment. My younger brother found me and we talked about life, love, family and philosophy. We didn’t always agree, but I learned things from him and about him, this 22-year-old man with a wisdom, thoughtfulness and generosity beyond his years. It was a conversation made possible by years of practice; of discussions and learning and fighting which planted within us a mutual curiosity, an appetite for growth, and a willingness to rumble.
Our world needs more respectful, honest and curious conversations, even when we disagree – especially when we disagree. What better place to start them than at home.
Thinking of the main staple of the dish—potatoes, the starchy vegetable that provides sustenance for people around the globe. The onion, the layers of sorrow and joy—a base for this dish served during the holidays. The oil, symbolic of hope and perseverance. All of these elements come together to form this delicious oval pancake permeating with possibilities. I wonder about future possibilities as I flip the latkes.
—Nikki Markman, University of San Francisco, San Francisco, California
The egg is a treasure. It is a fragile heart of gold that once broken, flows over the blemishless surface of the egg white in dandelion colored streams, like ribbon unraveling from its spool.
—Kaylin Ku, West Windsor-Plainsboro High School South, Princeton Junction, New Jersey
I would not only be serving them something to digest, I would serve them a one-of-a-kind taste of the past, a taste of fear that is felt in the souls of those whose home and land were taken away, a taste of ancestral power that still lives upon us, and a taste of the voices that want to be heard and that want the suffering of the Natives to end.
—Citlalic Anima Guevara, Wichita North High School, Wichita, Kansas
It’s the one thing that your parents make sure you have because they didn’t. Food is what your mother gives you as she lies, telling you she already ate. It’s something not everybody is fortunate to have and it’s also what we throw away without hesitation. Food is a blessing to me, but what is it to you?
—Mohamed Omar, Kirkwood High School, Kirkwood, Missouri
Filleted and fried humphead wrasse, mangrove crab with coconut milk, pounded taro, a whole roast pig, and caramelized nuts—cuisines that will not be simplified to just “food.” Because what we eat is the diligence and pride of our people—a culture that has survived and continues to thrive.
—Mayumi Remengesau, University of San Francisco, San Francisco, California
Everything was placed before me. Rolling up my sleeves I started cracking eggs, mixing flour, and sampling some chocolate chips, because you can never be too sure. Three separate bowls. All different sizes. Carefully, I tipped the smallest, and the medium-sized bowls into the biggest. Next, I plugged in my hand-held mixer and flicked on the switch. The beaters whirl to life. I lowered it into the bowl and witnessed the creation of something magnificent. Cookie dough.
—Cassandra Amaya, Owen Goodnight Middle School, San Marcos, Texas
We zest the bright yellow lemons and the peels of flavor fall lightly into the batter. To make frosting, we keep adding more and more powdered sugar until it looks like fluffy clouds with raspberry seed rain.
—Jane Minus, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York
Tamales for my grandma, I can still remember her skillfully spreading the perfect layer of masa on every corn husk, looking at me pitifully as my young hands fumbled with the corn wrapper, always too thick or too thin.
—Brenna Eliaz, San Marcos High School, San Marcos, Texas
Just like fry bread, MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat) remind New Orleanians and others affected by disasters of the devastation throughout our city and the little amount of help we got afterward.
—Madeline Johnson, Spring Hill College, Mobile, Alabama
I would bring cream corn and buckeyes and have a big debate on whether marijuana should be illegal or not.
—Lillian Martinez, Miller Middle School, San Marcos, Texas
We would finish the meal off with a delicious apple strudel, topped with schlag, schlag, schlag, more schlag, and a cherry, and finally…more schlag (in case you were wondering, schlag is like whipped cream, but 10 times better because it is heavier and sweeter).
—Morgan Sheehan, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York
