Lately, I've become obsessed with eating fried peanuts and walnuts.

I can understand eating walnuts, because I believe they’re good for the brain, and I live every day with anxiety about my not-so-high IQ.
I’m not really passionate about food. “Tasty” is as thin as paper in my mind.
Peanuts make even less sense.
This morning, it suddenly became clear to me: I’m getting old.
Fried peanuts were something from my childhood—when my parents took me home, we’d run into aunties and uncles on the road, selling them from baskets.