I just joined. I was going to write my tragic cilantro tale, but I can't stop crying long enough. The memories of my first cilantro experience... still too raw, too fresh. I know my story must be told, but at what price? I tell myself, "Rajah, one word at a time. One word at a time." My self then reminds me that it's unhealthy if your inner monologue addresses you by screen name. My self is kind of a pain in the ass.