and entering

I Talked to the Moldy Chobani in My MicroFridge for 30 Days: My Philosophical Journey

No before and after or fake lighting here, folks, just grade A genuine mold.

I love my body. I love health. Having relationships, communication, is a healthy thing. When I got back to my room mid-January, though, my floor was deserted and I might as well have been the only person on Earth. But when I popped open the unplugged MicroFridge to find an unopened Chobani I myself had cruelly deserted, then decided to peel back the crusty-curded aluminum and snag a whiff, I knew I had struck an opportunity.

There, waiting for me all along, was a precious baby patch of green, blue, and black, growing its first peach fuzz. I offered life Lemon Chobani and it gave me a friend.


 I’m not going to sugarcoat it: Week One was tough. After walking to three libraries like an idiot to find them all closed and then rolling up to the MAC to find it closed, too, I wanted to cry my troubles out to the mold, which had by this point identified itself as Urm. But no matter how distraught I appeared, Urm remained still and reciprocated no comfort. I decided I hated Urm. So, I curled up to my laptop and put on Kung Fu Panda 3, and found some wisdom there: Master Oogway says “There is just news. There is no good or bad.” I thought to myself, Urm is just a stoic like Master Oogway, and I wasn’t so mad.


The dining halls were beginning to populate, which was nice. A few times I passed by the yogurt tub and entered mild existential shock as I pondered the thin difference between sentience - Urm - and what I had assumed as non-sentience - this purple yogurt. What horror was being committed by letting the lonely spores in the purple gloop go down people’s throats into acid? They could be friends too, given time. But I concluded they did not care or know things like Urm did. They did not bear the burden of knowledge and sense. On these nights, Urm assured me of this conclusion. Master Oogway did, too. He says, “Your mind is like water, my friend. When it is agitated, it becomes difficult to see.” But was my mind similarly like yogurt, which is watery and chunky at the top until you stir it? “Ahhhh!”, thought my yogurty mind.


 Classes had begun, and I had to scale back my Urm-time a little. A morning and evening chat were all I could give the thing. It had doubled in size, definitely, since I met it. With this reduced attention, Urm at times appeared sad. I was mostly able to ignore this by just closing the refrigerator door, knowing that knowledge of concrete things is based on instantaneous perception, or something along those lines (Urm said that was Plato). My roommate caught me mid-conversation with Urm once, so I said I was doing an ASMR mukbang. That shut them up.


 I went for stretches of two or three days without speaking a word to anyone except Urm. Our bond was sacred and yet it was to end shortly. The things we spoke of would be incomprehensible to you, dear reader.

Looking back on this experience, I really think having full-blown conversations with yogurt mold is something I can incorporate into my lifestyle here and there. I feel more cultured and in tune with nature, and my mood is miles better. I also had a direct revelation of the end days. It was intense, and I don’t recommend it to casual health-seekers, but if you’re looking for a real challenge, it is great for those looking for a self-reflection program with a little more “oomph”. Perhaps I’ll seek knowledge next month by discussing French Social Thought with the moldy camembert developing nicely on the second shelf of my fridge.


Image credit: 98.1 The Hawk

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