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<style scoped>
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@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
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@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
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@font-face {
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font-family: 'Happy Times';
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src: url('../../fonts/happy-times-NG_regular_master.otf');
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}
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@font-face {
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font-family: 'Semi Light Dots';
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src: url('../../fonts/AC1-SemiLightDots.otf');
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}
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@font-face {
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font-family: 'ED Regular';
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src: url('../../fonts/ED-Regular.otf');
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}
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* {
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border: 0px black solid;
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background-color: transparent;
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}
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.container_width {
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max-width: 100%;
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padding-left: 0px;
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padding-right: 0px;
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padding-top: 70px;
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}
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a:hover {
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color: hotpink;
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text-decoration: none;
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}
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a {
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color: gray;
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}
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.content {
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/*padding-right: 50px;*/
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/*padding-left: 60px;*/
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font-family: 'Happy Times';
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font-size: 18px;
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line-height: 24px;
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/*padding-bottom: 40px;*/
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color: #1B75BC;
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text-align: left;
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}
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.controls {
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padding-top: 12px;
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height: 120px;
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z-index: 1;
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position: relative;
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}
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.title_story {
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font-size: 80px;
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font-family: 'Semi Light Dots', sans-serif;
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padding-top: 20px;
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color: #FA00FF;
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text-align: center;
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}
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.arrows {
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font-size: 80px;
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font-family: 'Semi Light Dots', sans-serif;
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top: 36px;
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color: #FA00FF;
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vertical-align: top;
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position: fixed;
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overflow: hidden;
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}
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.arrows a {
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display: block;
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}
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#leftarrow {
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float: left;
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color: #FA00FF;
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}
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#rightarrow {
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float: right;
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color: #FA00FF;
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}
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.image_container {
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padding-top: 5px;
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}
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.photo {
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-webkit-filter: grayscale(100%);
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filter: grayscale(100%);
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width: auto;
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max-height: 100%;
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max-width: 100%;
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padding: 12px;
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}
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.img-fluid {
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filter: sepia(100%) saturate(300%) brightness(100%) hue-rotate(270deg);
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}
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.author {
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font-size: 20px;
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font-family: 'ED-regular', sans-serif;;
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text-align: center;
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color: #FA00FF;
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}
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.small_icon {
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max-width: 60%;
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padding-top: 100px;
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}
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.zoom {
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max-width: 100%;
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}
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@media (max-width: 575px){
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.small_icon {
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display: none;
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}
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.title_story {
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font-size: 48px;
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}
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.author {
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font-size: 21px;
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}
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}
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</style>
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<template>
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<b-container fluid class="p-0">
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<MenuBar/>
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<b-row class="controls">
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<b-col md="12" class="arrows">
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<a href="/simmered" id="leftarrow">←</a>
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<a href="/phone" id="rightarrow">→</a>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="4">
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="6" offset-md="3">
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<div class="zoom">
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<b-img center class="img-fluid" alt="Responsive image" src="media/magiun2/cauliflower.png"> </b-img>
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</div>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="12">
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<p class="title_story">Chicken Soup for Soul</p>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="12">
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<p class="author">an essay by Patricia Cîrtog</p>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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</b-col>
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<b-col md="5">
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<div class='content'>
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<p>Morning… As a commuter, my morning used to be a colorful bustle of to-go coffee, endless
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searches for a complete pair for socks, mother’s kisses while dressing myself up and, above all,
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the run for the bus used to be my refresh button that offered me a glance of hope for a wonderful
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day. However, things changed drastically when the pandemic stroke out and our school was
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closed. Suddenly, my hole adventure experienced in my way to school was replaced by a simple
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click on “Join”.</p>
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<p>
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At the beginning, I was excited for being able to water the plants while admiring the sunrise, to
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cook my breakfast and to spend time with my beautiful pet, Pretty. I thought that I would wake
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up at 6:00 o’clock, do some physical exercises, learn a new language, be as productive as
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possible and so on and so forth, because I finally had time. Not a chance. After a while, my only
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activity in the morning was to play with my sweet dog as I watched the sunrise. But it was
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something more than just playing. That moment of the day became a form of escapism from the
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reality, sheltering with Pretty and enjoying ourselves. I felt terrible and anxious because of the
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uncertain situation and the isolation, but spending my mornings with Pretty was therapeutical for
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me. Her gentle, yellow fur, reminding me of wheat spices in the sun, offered me a safe place to
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ease. I loved the fact that there was no necessity to talk or to be productive. We used to eat our
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breakfast together and to play the most ridiculous games, but we used to feel each other so deep.
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And that was the way my morning bustle turned into a quiet, happy moment.</p>
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<p>
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Then, here I am, all alone. I stare blankly. It’s 6:00 o’clock and the sunrise is not showing yet.
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Pretty died after a few days of fighting with a monster which could not be driven away. How
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should this morning unfold?</p>
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<p>
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It’s the first time when I feel emptiness. I feel myself as being empty from the crown of the head
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to the tip of the toe. I close my eyes. Hundreds of thoughts are whirling around my head, just like
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autumn leaves in a stormy day. I am crawling to the kitchen just like Pretty used to do when I
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asked her to come with me to the attic because I was too afraid. I open the door from the larder
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apathetically and I take the kettle. But my attention is captivated by this big, white cauliflower.
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And, all of a sudden, my senses are sending me to my childhood memories. When I was a little
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girl cooking with my lovely grandmother and talking about everything in the world. We used to
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cook something that we called: chicken soup for soul. It is a sweet soup full of vegetables that I
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didn’t actually realized I knew the recipe until this moment of connection with my inner child. I
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remember myself begging my grandmother to add some more cauliflower to the soup, because I
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really loved it. I used to perceive those little strips as some small bouquets of daisies floating in a
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deep steaming lake. Somewhere, in a hidden pigeonhole of my mind, I’ve found the voice of my
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grandmother teaching me how to make this soup. And there it is:</p>
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<p>
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“Chop two onions in small, small pieces. Take from the fridge half a celery and a medium
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pepper and cut them carefully just as big as the toffees you eat. Add a little love. Then chop 2 carrots, put them all in our red medium pot and add some cauliflower and broccoli. Don’t forget
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about the little pieces of chicken breast and a pinch of salt. And put the pot on the cooker stove,
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over medium heat.” </p>
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<p>While I remember my grandmother’s words, I do exactly what I should in order to prepare this
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soup meant to warm my soul. While it is boiling, I imagine myself dancing and singing around
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my grandmother and a sense of fulfillment touches my inner feelings. After the meat is cooked, I
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add some herbs (parsley, basil, oregano and thyme) and a vegetable cube. I taste it with a
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wooden spoon while I admire my small bouquets of cauliflower and I tell myself: “This soup is
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delicious!”.</p>
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<p>Now, I’m ready to press the “Join” button. My online classes are just about to start. Maybe
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making some soup haven’t solved all of my problems, but I’ve felt a sense of achievement and
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joy in these dark moments. For lunch, I will eat my chicken soup for soul. Maybe I’ll do it
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crying, maybe quietly, but the company of cooking has offered me peace.</p>
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</div>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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</b-row>
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</b-container>
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</template>
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<script>
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import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
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export default {
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name: 'soulsoup',
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data: function() {
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return {
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}
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},
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components: {
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MenuBar
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}
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}
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</script>
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