It was almost three in the morning. The sun was still on the other side of the world as I trod my way out of that dark alley. I got kind of lost thanks to the alcohol in my system but, thankfully, I found a familiar landmark after a few minutes. I may have found my way to the main road but the chances of me getting a jeepney ride home was slim so I just decided to grab a hungarian sausage from a local food stand right across the street.
The cook told me that food was available minus the usual condiments. All she had left then was a bottle of hot sauce which I am not much of a fan of. I almost backed out thinking of how bland it would probably taste without the catsup and all the food I ate that day while waiting for people I was scheduled to meet the night before. You see, I’ve been eating a lot lately. Stress eating, they say. And people around have noticed it. My relatives have been greeting my chubby cheeks saying that’s how I look like when I was still a toddler. It would often come with an anecdote of them easily getting tired of carrying me because I was heavy. My friends would lovingly point out my amrs that are getting bigger or my tummy showing out more than ever. My contemplation would’ve caused an unnecessary delay to the cook. She would’ve been so annoyed of me but good thing there was someone in front of me in the line. A part of me wished a jeepney would already come by so I don’t have to order and eat anymore. The hungover side of me wanted to push out all the alcohol out of my stomach and replace it with cheap yet mouthwatering hungarian sausage. So I decided to go commando for my early morning sandwich – no condiments. Just that hot sausage wrapped around warm bread. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that sandwich that watching it bathe in day-old cooking old was like porn. Yes, I said it. Porn and I’m talking about sausage.
No regrets, though. Because it was my calmest moment recently. I’ve been juggling my personal life, school, and work for nearly four months now that I couldn’t remember the last time I ate like that. It must’ve been the light rain streaming down the yellow-lit road. It must’ve been the hot sauce or the alcohol acting up in my head. Or that it felt and smelled like a holiday morning, my favorite. Or maybe the fact that I’m all alone able to eat peacefully without having to talk about work or school or my life’s bullshit. I felt like I was Emma Watson with her arms spread out while she stood on top of a pick-up truck as it went through a tunnel while a beautiful song was playing. I think I discovered food yoga that morning. I think I did. I didn’t care if it would add another inch or two to my waistline. I didn’t give a damn if people would give me astonished looked if I told them that I can eat two more of that that morning. Because, honestly, I am in love with food. I once ate eight complete meals in one day. The very piece I am eating, the way it was prepared, the ingredients put together by unbelievable people to make it as such.
I am unlike those people with fast metabolism no matter how much they eat. My body is, I guess, proud to show off the effect of my love affair with food and people love to give the attention it wants. I do feel insecure sometimes. There are days I’d just wear a loose shirt to hide it and there came a month when I didn’t want to be in photos because I’d see my round face on the camera and I was too ashamed. I would go on days without eating and just binge after some time. I wasn’t so smart then.
But food yoga (I’ll get that trademarked soon) complemented one of my mantras: Whatever’s good for your soul, do it.
Eating is good for the body which is the home of our soul. Eating and food itself bring back childhood memories, create new and old connections, calms people down be it a sausage sandwich or just a chocolate chip cookie. So fuck it. I’m going to eat when and what I want to eat. No matter how often or seldom. Because this is my body and this is my soul. No unsolicited advice on my weight nor an annoying comment about my arms would stop me from doing what I want. But I am, however, not advocating overeating. This is just me finding out what brings me peace. Yes, I love to eat but I keep an active lifestyle that includes jogging, walking around campus for errands, lung exercises through smoking… I’m just kidding on that last bit, though. My body weight is currently on a yo-yo state right now and I’m okay with it. Certain parts of my body is and will get bigger, smaller, bigger, and smaller again and I’m okay with it. Because I and the rest of Earth’s population have problems bigger than my tummy to worry about. And as long as my mom’s answer to my question, “Am I getting fat?” is a big NO, I am okay.