Tag Archives: food

Random Thoughts On Wednesday

I wish I could say I have a love-hate relationship with food, at least, that way, there is still one positive side to it but the truth is I neither love nor hate food. For me consuming any form of nourishment is nothing but a necessary evil. I don’t enjoy the act nor the taste. My father said I eat like a soldier and it doesn’t change since then. I gobble and gulp the food as if there is no tomorrow and with minimal chewing. The sooner it’s done the better. If I have one feeling which associated with food that would be guilt.

I feel guilty when I eat and I don’t know why. Never been anorexic or bulimic. Never had so much issue with my weight. Of course, I don’t want to get fat who does anyway but a serious problem regarding weight I never have. But I feel guilty nonetheless when consuming a fair quantity of food. What is a fair amount in my book? Eating three times or more a day. I feel that I should be eating only once or not at all. If I could skip a meal or two, That would be ideal. I feel better that way. Believe you me if I can go on without food I will, there is no doubt about that.

I only eat when I’m dying of hunger or craving for something. Mostly fried crunchy food because sweets I can’t tolerate. I never fancy cakes or ice cream. I can eat them without a problem (if you consider lactose and gluten intolerance not a problem) but I draw the line at chocolates. No matter how hard I try I simply cannot acquire the taste for it. I can go so far as saying I hate them. I don’t care if they are artisanal or expensive coated with eatable gold leaf, if it’s chocolate, I pass.

So, where is my aversion for food originated from?

From my youth, where else you might say, but I don’t think so. We were poor and every meal we considered a feast back then. I grew up on a diet of seafood being born and bred in a fishpond. Meat was scarce and so hard to come by we only had them once a week on Sunday. If you want to know a little bit more about how my life was when I was growing up, you can read some of the painful details here and here.

Anyway, whatever psychological issues I have with food, I don’t know where it comes from. All I can say is: Food doesn’t excite me. I wish I can go on without.

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What Is Your Addiction?

I don’t have one.

I do have a fixation problem once in a while but it doesn’t last very long. For the moment it is succulents and cacti. It used to be scarves, then handbags, then blazers then shoes or pizza. My son’s poison is coffee. For D. anything sweet, in particular chocolates, but cakes and ice creams will do. He’s onto it too much that he hallucinates if he can’t eat any of those within three days. My Ex’s weakness is more lethal: alcohol. It’s a habit, a dependency, an enslavement it cost him our marriage and I heard that history is about to repeat itself. I hope not. I hope that he learned already his lessons but does leopard really lost his spots?

How about you? What is your addiction? 

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Tea

…Is my choice of beverage. Green tea to be specific. The real green tea I mean. Not the one in tea bags but those that directly imported from abroad and only available in just a few selected stores. Here where I live, there are just two known places that supply what I preferred. One in the capital and another one near the border to France. There was a time that I will choose screw driver over anything else (except water, water is always good) but that was a long time ago. I still drink an occasional margarita while on vacation but so seldom I am not even qualified as an occasional drinker. Coffee, I take coffee sometimes. Usually in pair with something cold like a sandwich or something sweet to have something warm. In my culture, if it’s not warm it isn’t qualified as a meal. I’ve read somewhere something like this: I shouldn’t think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea. 

“If you are cold, tea will warm you;
if you are too heated, it will cool you;
If you are depressed, it will cheer you;
If you are excited, it will calm you.” 

The magic of tea.

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Neat and Tidy

It’s always nice to see things arranged in a proper order. Easy on the eye. Inviting. Inspiring. Shot worthy. Last Christmas I saw in the Supermarket rows of rows of gift wrapped chocolates. I am not fond of sweets but I can’t help but admire the colourful display. They are so tempting, neatly and appropriately dressed up for the holiday.  

 

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Morning

For every each one of us morning feels different. What the heck, you can’t even have the same morning each day. They say that a good start to a day is very important. If you are in a positive frame of mind in the morning than you are very likely to have a productive day. Similarly, if you get upset or are troubled with something in the morning than you are going to have the same negativity throughout the day. Lindsay Lohan once said:

‘Everyone has highs and lows that they have to learn from, but every morning I start off with a good head on my shoulders, saying to myself, ‘It’s going to be a good day!’.

Let’s try and follow her example. Shall we?

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Merry Christmas

When I was young, despite our reduced circumstances, I always find Christmas the most exciting time of the year; better than New Year which is always dominated by extreme noises and possible fireworks casualties. I remember going from house to house all over town wishing the occupants merry Christmas and in return, you will get small change or sometimes a meal. A privilege reserved only for children. As an adult, it is seen as morally wrong doing the same thing.

I had a small pink plastic piggy bank for my holiday coins. All the cents I gathered on my tour, I put in there. It helped for the rest of the year when I needed money for school projects or to buy snacks during recess so, I will not feel left out and different from other kids. When my coins were finished, I put white wildflowers in the slot of my piggy bank; it looked good in my playhouse, just like a flower vase.

But the Christmas I will never forget was when I was a freshman. After 11 years of managing the fishpond, my father found himself in dispute with the owner. Proud as my father was, he rather dragged us down the drain than give into something which was against his principles; we found ourselves homeless overnight.

Out of desperation, lacked of other immediate resources and nowhere else to go, my father built a one-room shack just outside the perimeter of the fishpond (how stupid and embarrassing that was, but I believe if he didn’t  think about us, I have a very strong notion that he rather pack his bags and move to another town very far away from our then current location – he done this before – and never come back. But as it were, he swallowed his high pride and settled us in temporarily) you can read the rest of the story in details here.

That particular Christmas eve we locked our door early and tried not to hear the merriment outside, pretending we were asleep; in the dark, I can hear my stomach growling, we didn’t eat supper that night but no one complained. We all suffered in silence.

Out of a sudden I heard someone calling my name outside, my father put his finger on his lips and gestured for me not to open the door; I went back to my place.

But the person outside the door kept knocking and calling wishing us the usual holiday greeting and begging me to please open the door.

After a while, my father gave in and allowed me to see our visitor.

When I opened the door, I was surprised to see Macedonio; he was one of the seven brothers who just moved to our village couple of years ago.

I remember when we were still living in the fish pond; he initiated an introduction between his brothers, me and my siblings by purposely landing a big kite in the middle of our place, which was separated from the rest of the neighbourhood by an electric fence. He managed to convince my father to let them in to retrieve their kite, the rest is history.

Macedonio courted me briefly till my father (as always) pointed him to the fact that I was still underage and will not be available for such things until I’m 100 years old or so. He remained a trusted friend of the family as well as his other brothers who for some reasons don’t look like each other. Not a single resemblance. As if they are handpicked from different places and by some chance ended up together as one family. I have never seen more good-looking young boys in my time than Macedonio and his siblings.

Opening the door finding him standing there smiling at me was a (pleasant) surprise. He was wearing his usual lopsided grin which if I was more experienced that time, I will recognize as designed to melt every girl’s heart.  But I wasn’t. What caught my attention was the enormous plate he was holding full of Christmas delights. There was a mountain of pancit, a loaf of bread, suman, kalamay, sinukmani, half of a fried chicken and rice cakes! I looked at him full of disbelief! Still smiling, eyes twinkling, he poked his head inside and looked around. When he saw that my father wasn’t looking; he gave me a peck on the cheek and said: “Merry Christmas you gorgeous.” He winked at me before turning his back and disappearing into the night. I was left flabbergasted. 

He must have been aware of our situation (not much one can hide in a small village like ours) and how kindhearted of him to think about us in that time of the year and provide us with a holiday meal without hurting the sensitive pride of my father. Bless the people like him. Not only for making our Christmas unforgettable but restoring my fate in humanity…

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