I guess I don't like food, really
I guess I don't like food, really. Or, that's a rather stupid thing to say. I don't like mealtimes. I love food. I intensely dislike, maybe even abhor mealtimes. Why do I, you ask? Well, it's not really that complex.
You see, when I was growing up, my family and I would have dinners together. My dad wasn't at those dinners often; he worked late. So, my family was incomplete, 5 days of the week. I never saw my dad then. My mom and my brother however, only made it worse. Don't get me wrong. I love them. I loved them even then. But my brother was a little difficult to manage, I guess. So they were always yelling at each other and I often got caught in between. My brother did not make dinnertimes easy for my mother, but then again, she didn't make it easy for him either, so both of them squabbled. Sometimes, I got mad and frustrated too, so I added in my own word - which of course, did nothing to help at all. In the middle of these terrible dinnertimes, for some reason, the old maxim would occur to me, "Treat others the way you want to be treated." And I'd ignore it, ignore the idea of saying, because I knew it would fall on deaf ears, and I'd get reprimanded and I wouldn't be able to hold my tongue. And the poor maxim would be stampeded on and defied and made to feel useless. So I never emitted a word after thinking about it. So, actually, mealtimes became a terrible thing for me to have. When I arrived at the table, I'd often not feel hungry. When I ate the food, it would taste uncooked and tasteless, and I couldn't even focus on it. My main focus would be to finish the food and not enjoy it, even though my mother was a great cook. I couldn't, didn't want to eat. The fact that I had to so that I wouldn't have to interrupt a rude exchange or have anger taken out on me just made it worse.
And I guess, now, when I get to the table, I just feel a little less hungry. My mother and brother turned out allright for all their quarrels, but I can never snap out of it. I don't remember anything, but I guess my subconscious does. My mind begins to make up excuses, but then, I sit myself down and eat a good lunch, and I taste my food because I am not focused on finishing it, and I can relish it. But the beginning is always hard. Sometimes, when I've had a bad day, their images will shimmer like mirages on the dining table in my kitchen. They fade away soon, but leave an imprint on my memory. It's hard to get rid of it. Maybe I shouldn't eat today. I'm not that hungry anyways.
You see, when I was growing up, my family and I would have dinners together. My dad wasn't at those dinners often; he worked late. So, my family was incomplete, 5 days of the week. I never saw my dad then. My mom and my brother however, only made it worse. Don't get me wrong. I love them. I loved them even then. But my brother was a little difficult to manage, I guess. So they were always yelling at each other and I often got caught in between. My brother did not make dinnertimes easy for my mother, but then again, she didn't make it easy for him either, so both of them squabbled. Sometimes, I got mad and frustrated too, so I added in my own word - which of course, did nothing to help at all. In the middle of these terrible dinnertimes, for some reason, the old maxim would occur to me, "Treat others the way you want to be treated." And I'd ignore it, ignore the idea of saying, because I knew it would fall on deaf ears, and I'd get reprimanded and I wouldn't be able to hold my tongue. And the poor maxim would be stampeded on and defied and made to feel useless. So I never emitted a word after thinking about it. So, actually, mealtimes became a terrible thing for me to have. When I arrived at the table, I'd often not feel hungry. When I ate the food, it would taste uncooked and tasteless, and I couldn't even focus on it. My main focus would be to finish the food and not enjoy it, even though my mother was a great cook. I couldn't, didn't want to eat. The fact that I had to so that I wouldn't have to interrupt a rude exchange or have anger taken out on me just made it worse.
And I guess, now, when I get to the table, I just feel a little less hungry. My mother and brother turned out allright for all their quarrels, but I can never snap out of it. I don't remember anything, but I guess my subconscious does. My mind begins to make up excuses, but then, I sit myself down and eat a good lunch, and I taste my food because I am not focused on finishing it, and I can relish it. But the beginning is always hard. Sometimes, when I've had a bad day, their images will shimmer like mirages on the dining table in my kitchen. They fade away soon, but leave an imprint on my memory. It's hard to get rid of it. Maybe I shouldn't eat today. I'm not that hungry anyways.
That sounds TERRIBLE! I used to just twiddle my thumbs and roll around the floor when my mom and my sister got into an argument (which used to happen a lot) and it's not very pleasant. WHY YOU WRITE SO MANY DEPRESSING THINGS???
ReplyDeleteHehe, it's just fictionnn
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