The Miracle of Eating

Once upon a time, I wasn’t conscious of how much I ate and what I weight.

I remember finishing six rounds of my rice+pata meal and even being proud of it! I was just a little girl then, fascinated with my mom’s cooking like it was the only five-star dish that could exist. I didn’t care whether my tummy looked a little bit bigger (and maybe even more) as long as I enjoyed my meal and I was full.

But that carefree phase ended when I had to grow up (and was consequently forced to be whatever society imagined as the perfect lady). I learned to see myself as a fat ugly awkward girl. And I tried to eliminate that girl by eating less, trying weird exercises in my room and trying different derma-recommended products.

The saddest part was going on diets, really. Eating was more than just the in-take of food but I had to convince myself that it was just that… that it was just a matter of the calories coming in my body.

I struggled with that for years. I wanted to accept myself (and eat whatever I want) but then “being careless” and “indulging” made me feel guilty (and awfully fat). It was just now that I was learning to break free from the norms (and loving myself in the process).

Now that I’m a somewhat “free woman,” I appreciate eating more. I realized that in our culture, eating means coming together and getting to know the people around. (Why the heck would I want to eliminate that in my life?)

I love having lunch with my college friends. We were able to explore the different food spots around La Salle (that I didn’t know existed before). But more that the various dishes I discovered, it was the experiences and the stories that mattered. We couldn’t get enough of each other. More than the projects we did together, these lunches built our friendship.

I love eating with my fellow Lavoxans. Other than our love for writing, the love for food was also common among us. We’d eat lunch together during press work. We’d bring food to the pub every after a contest. We’d bring food to the pub whenever we felt like it. Usually, during those moments, I yearn to also bring food and feed them. I want to feed the people that I love.

I love eating dinner with my family. Due to busy schedules, we’re only able to come together at night. But those moments are the most precious because then we could talk together, share stories, tell jokes and ask for advice from one another. Then, we could argue and bicker too. Yes, it’s then that we remember what being a family really means.

You see, those who don’t eat or go on crazy diets on their own are missing out on a lot. I know because I’ve been there. I’m still not fully healed from the brain-wash I imposed on myself but I know that I won’t ever forget the miracle of eating. I don’t think I’d want to.