Disembodied

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Out of Reach.”

Write about the one X that got away – a person, an experience, a place you wanted to visit. How much would you change about your life to have it within reach again?

One of the things that came to mind when I read this was childhood innocence. Innocence is a very loaded word, and I’m not in a hurry to stick it in anywhere, least of all in my infant blog. But my childhood was not filled with the naïve happiness that characterizes baby albums. I remember the days I’d walk home from school crying – over what, I can’t recall. And I remember sitting at the stairway of my flat, shoveling in Twisties. The empty packets would litter the floor when I was through.

I ate compulsively. I hid it from my parents. The day the school nurse told me I was borderline overweight, I learnt I was fat; I learnt what that meant and more importantly, what it implied. I exercised and watched my diet. I lost weight, but remained chubby. When I turned sixteen, deciding to have it over and done with I obsessed over food and exercise. I lost weight, turned underweight, but also lost some of my sanity.

Eventually I had a long talk with my parents, and slowly began to eat normally again. Now I eat like any other person. My weight is normal, but a little high, as such things tend to be post-recovery. I nearly always win the fight not to purge – a battle made easier by the fact that the last time I tried, I vomited blood. No more after that. But this isn’t a blog about eating disorders.

If I could have it back again? I want the body I had post-junk food. I want the body that responded to food with happiness instead of anxiety, that didn’t cling to fat because it had known starvation. I want a body that is free and light, swift and strong. I would give…too much to have it back again. I would give (anything, anything, but that is too cliché!) nearly anything.

The funny thing is that my desire is as palpable as the air leaving my nose, and yet the solution is simple. Eat right and exercise, 80-20 in importance respectively. That’s all. So why haven’t I got it yet?

Because my body rebels when it’s hungry, because the bad habits from starvation – not being able to stop eating once I start – are hard to break. And yet these things are not insurmountable: I could stop snacking, since one snack inevitably turns into a plateful; have full meals and not snacks.

I could plan my meals, since I do follow plans once they’re made. It’s not that hard to cook good food! I said I would do anything, so I can certainly cook! I even have a maid to help me.

The 20% of exercise is, I believe, pretty much fulfilled by all the running around I do in the wards. And hell, there is a lot of standing and walking. Probably why doctors are usually thin.

Well, it seems like I have a plan, doesn’t it? It goes something like this:

  • Eat well (80%) and exercise (20%).
  • Plan your meals and eat full meals instead of snacks.

And voila! This post has turned into a life changing first step!

Love,

Y.

We’re Not The Same

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Night and Day.”

“Have you ever had an experience that was amazing the first time, but terrible the second time around? Or vice versa? What made it different the second time?”

It was an exciting tale of love and passion, both undying like the main heartthrob – yes, it’s Edward. I confess I read that elementary story when it came out 10 years ago, and was spellbound. I was fifteen then, an incurable dreamer who longed for her own vampire boyfriend as she read.

I left the book in a corner and didn’t pick it up again until recently. I was bored, you see, and remembered its reputation (amongst teenage girls, admittedly) for being fascinating, swoon-worthy, and the rest of it… So I read.

You can tell this isn’t going to have a happy ending. I mean, how did I ever enjoy those pages? It was bland, predictable, and I shut it after a few cringes. Twilight has been lambasted so much that, like Bieber, it’s unfashionable to hate it now. Just tolerate.

It goes to show how much we change. It’s as if I’m a different person than I was then. We don’t notice this change second-by-second, but as weeks, months, and years pass… we become someone different. The change is mostly subtle, but if I were to meet my fifteen year old self now, standing in front of me, I wonder what she would think of me? And would I know what runs through her mind?

To tell the truth, I don’t quite like where I’ve ended up today, at the ripe age of 20. It’s a good reminder to strive to be a better person. Every second. Now. 🙂

Ciao!