Everybody knows of change but no one really expects them. I mean that in the most sincere way possible; no cliche.
Being a vegetarian was easy because I had a cause. Also, I was hopeful enough to think that my conscientiousness was going to, on a minuscule scale, save the world. If you had told me, during past the years of me wallowing in my own sense of self-righteousness that I will one day consume flesh again, I would've thrown a fit and tried to shit-kick you in the face for undermining my "martyrdom". Subsequently, I would've also upped the ante and adopted an even more extreme diet (ie. fruitaranism), not so much to prove you wrong, but to prove myself worthy of...something.
The thing about change is that when you're in the middle of it, you don't really feel like anything different really happened. At least for me. When I ate my first piece of lobster one month ago, I didn't feel the same guilt as I usually would've had consumed, even accidentally something laced with animal death. Instead, I justified it and the meat tasted like sustenance should; nourishing, delicious but most importantly, guilt-free. It has been a month since I started eating sea food and I can very well see this change of perception in meat consumption as the beginning of a slippery slope toward full-blown omnivourism.
Though this change directly threatens my identity, I experience no greater anxiety than usual. Ironically, it is this lack of response that I find more unsettling than anything else. Here I am, a strict vegetarian (a label I was proud to be associated with) for just under 6 years has now included seafood into her diet. This makes me question the real intent behind my vegetarianism and so far, I've only come to realize that perhaps the diet restriction was too much of a compromise or perhaps I for once don't have to justify this to anyone.