If I were a tomato

If I were a tomato

When I was nine, I remember reading my first book, which was called If I were a tomato. A child’s first book, just because it is the first, is always very special, but mine was special not only because it was the first, but because it was a book that the protagonist was the tomato. I don’t remember almost anything about the narrative, I just remember that this tomato was sad because it was a tomato.
Today, lying on my bed on my back with my arms crossed behind my head, after lunch, watching the fan spin, spin, spin… I asked myself: what if I were a tomato? My world stopped and for a few seconds the fan too. I don’t know if it would be sad, angry or vain. It is rather sad to know that my existence in this world would be so short and I would rot in a few days, I would become old, soft, lose its shine and mold. How disgusting of me! Perhaps I would be revolted by suffering sections of torture, in which people would rip my skin off, cold or soak me in boiling water, and would tear off my pulp (my core). It would perhaps be vain, because my skin, if well cared for, is shiny, shiny and I know that, apart from modesty, I have an enviable color, I am one of the few that can be used green or ripe.
I don’t think I would accept being an extract or dressing, but I also wouldn’t want to be an extra in a dish, be another ingredient in the salad. I would like to be juice or soup, but it has to be juice or soup just for me. Now, certainly the saddest thing about being a tomato is to be thrown in those soups where more than a thousand and one vegetables go, to know that they will put me under pressure and my existence will end while the pressure pin rotates, shi… shii… shiii… and I’m nobody anymore. Just imagining remnants of my skin floating in that soup, an evident proof of the crime they committed, a soup that I am a part of, but I’m not in it. Maybe I liked the idea of ​​being a vinaigrette, I alone with another miss onion swimming in the vinegar, what a great thing!
If I were a tomato, I don’t know if I would prefer to be called a fruit or a vegetable, maybe it irritated me to be confused, maybe I would be vain for being so unique, versatile and unclassifiable. It could be that I was shy because they wanted me pelato. Maybe I would prefer to be one of those miniature tomatoes, because nobody would cut me, remove my skin or seed, I would like to give pleasure to people who feel the epiphany of having me exploding in their mouths, but the sad thing about being a small tomato is that I would never be enough alone, people would eat me with so many others like me. Maybe I would be happier being one of those “king of the jungle” tomatoes, of those giants that are enough for themselves and that only they already have a meal, it would be a stuffed tomato, it would give in to me and would house so many other ingredients. Yes, on second thought, if I were a tomato, I would be happy.

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