I hated it when they stared at me from head to toe. I hated
it especially when I walk in the hallway in front of them and they stare
slowly, pausing when they get to my stomach then to my thighs, and when I turn
my back, they would let out short giggles that they pretend to hold. I would
clench my fists and hasten my steps and when I get to the cafeteria, I would
sit in the farthest corner and take comfort from my only friends: grilled
chicken breasts, mashed potatoes and low-fat diet cookies.
I never understood my body. I was always skinny before I
turned 16. My mother was also very skinny despite the amount of food that she
ate. My best guess would be that my father was fat and the genes I got from him
just suddenly turned on. I’ve never resented him for leaving my mom and me, but
being bullied in my teens, I needed someone to blame.
My life at home was strangely a better comfort than school. I
would describe my mother with one word: weird. She was very skinny with dark
hair and large eyes. She was always funny though her jokes were half awkward
and seemed forced. I gave her the credit simply for trying. I was very close to
her since we only had each other from the time I was born. She didn’t have many
friends so I was her main outlet when she was sad or happy. Most of the time though
she was ecstatic but for reasons I never understood.
Mother worked over the internet for people she hasn’t met.
She said she was a writer and that allowed her to earn a living and raise me
without needing help. What kind of writer, I didn’t know because that part of
her life, her work and dealings in the internet, she never shared with me. That
and many other things including where she goes on Fridays, who my father was, where
she was born, who my grandparents were, if she had any siblings or any
relatives at all, she never talked much about. I learned not to ask about those
things no matter how desperately I wanted to know more. I would be content with
the little things she would say about a distant memory about her life and we
silently agreed that I should never push her to say more.
My favorite thing about home was seeing mother dance in the
kitchen. She cooked and baked endlessly. I never see her without a spatula in
her hand. When I come home from school and hug her she would smell of rosemary,
oregano and smoked steak. Her hair would smell of cookies and all the different
sweets she made that day and the kitchen would be bursting with colors of deep
blues and reds and bright yellows and greens. I loved coming home to my sweet,
spicy and flavorful smelling mother.
One Friday afternoon, I went home knowing the house would be
empty as it usual was on Fridays. However, instead of seeing a fridge full of
cooked food the way it always was on Fridays, the fridge was empty. There were also
raw ingredients in the kitchen, partially chopped onions, seasoned but uncooked
meat and softened cream cheese and butter. I cleaned these up and put them back
in the fridge.
I waited for mother to come home the following day as she
always did. Then I waited until Sunday. I tried cooking my meals when I got hungry.
This went on for a week until the next Saturday, I woke up at midnight hearing her
slip through our gate. She slowly crept through the stairs, peeped through my
door and went back to her room. The next day, the house smelled of her signature
creamy pancakes. How could I not forgive her?
Her disappearance happened again many times before I turned
16. She never gave an explanation and I never asked. Some days she would leave
frozen food to last for a week. Most days of her disappearance she would leave
money to last a month. I used this money to feed myself. The simplest meals I
could come up with would be scrambled eggs and bread. Mother never taught me
how to cook so I had to learn from online videos. I made pasta, mashed potatoes
and steamed rice as my staple food. I would get my protein from bacon, sausage
and pre-seasoned meat. The food I prepared were never as good as the ones she
cooked. I burnt a lot of meat and my rice was either undercooked or too mushy.
I would crave for mother’s sweets and pastries but since I
knew nothing about baking, I would buy a week’s supply of store-bought sweets
instead. I would watch TV while waiting for her. Beside me were either ice
cream, delivered pizza, or leftover pasta. Then night after night of waiting
and eating, the weight started to show up and my self-esteem started going
down.
I was mostly alone in high school. None of my peers had the
same interests as me. I stayed at the library, reading, during break time and
even on some weekends. I was particularly interested in the origin of the
universe so I read a lot about the big bang and other theories about the
universe and even fiction related to multiverse.
Nobody bothered in my the early years in high school but
when I started gaining weight, my gym classes turned from bad to worse. I
didn’t realize that my pants were getting too tight. The boys and girls who
talk and laugh after our gym class did as they used to, only this time one boy
called out my name and added “your butt is starting to look like your face!”
The girls giggled while the rest of the boys didn’t even try to hide their
amusement. I would be the subject of pranks. I tried to ignore the bullies and
buried my nose even deeper in my books.
I was very excited, I would say itching, to graduate from
high school. I wasn’t one of the top students but unlike most of my classmates,
I got into one of the best schools in the country. Before I entered college I
felt so free thinking about going to a place where nobody knew me. I felt like
I could finally change what people thought of me, that I would have friends and
that I can improve how I looked to get a boy to like me.
My mother wanted me to go to our community college but she
knew she lost her grip on me. She changed for some reason, I noticed, but
whatever change that happened to her seem insignificant to her unexplained
disappearances. She dropped me off to my college dormitory before class
started. As she was leaving, I mustered all my courage to finally ask what the
fuck is wrong with her but before I did, she hugged me tight and I saw her cry for
the first time. She bid me goodbye and she disappeared for good.
My major was Physics but I had Philosophy subjects that I
enjoyed and where I met my few close friends in college who were majoring on
the subject. We went out at night walking around the campus, watching the
stars, watching people and talking about any and every thing. We discussed
time, religion, the origins or the world, the chicken and the egg. We agreed
that Physics is the science while Philosophy is the art for all life systems.
I enjoyed my first year in college because I had smart
friends who were accepting of my appearance. Mornings with my friends were
sunny and filled with laughter and debates on existence, human behaviour,
extra-terrestrial life or whatever our latest subject is about. I felt
liberated, emancipated with a voice that is free and unafraid of criticism.
Still, I felt a bottomless sense of dissatisfaction. I read
about all the ways to lose weight, none of which worked. I tried being
vegetarian, eating low fat and even raw food. My weight would come and go and
by middle of my second year in college I was weighing 210 lbs. At 5’4” height I
was borderline obese, a walking lollipop with large thick legs.
My desperation led me back to my primary place of comfort:
the library. I searched through all the available literature on metabolism,
energy use and the effects of food on the body. I read stories about 300-lb men
who lost weight through diet pills. Women drank certain teas that burn fat but
the company producing it had a lot of disclaimers.
My eyes started to hurt from the whole day of reading. It
was almost 9pm and I remembered that I had to eat. I packed my bag and took a
couple of books that I planned on bringing to my dorm. I was checking out when
one of the librarians noticed me. The librarian of course was an old lady with
greying hair and wearing thick glasses. She looked straight at me and it hurt.
I remembered how people looked at me and teased. I was close to tears.
“Young one, I know what you’re looking for,” she said. I
gulped to stop my tears but I wasn’t able to answer. She summoned me back to
the library but I hesitated. They already turned off the lights and there was
no one else in the room. She smiled with her large white teeth and I felt my
hair stand. But I followed her obediently because I know no better.
We went to a lighted room labelled University Publications.
It had a couple hundred books published by some of the distinguished alumni and
professors. The room had photos, year books and a compilation of all the
college paper, UniversiVoice, ran by the students from 1809. It felt like a
historical museum with old artifacts that smelled like time itself.
The librarian looked like she belonged in that room. She
searched through the pile of UniversiVoice from 1990 to 2000. She picked up and
removed the plastic casing. She pointed to the headline “Student bags biggest
loser title”. Below that was a photo of me the way I looked now: round, flabby,
unhappy. Beside it was another photo: that of my mother who looked like she had
woken up from a very good dream. I didn’t know what kind of trick the librarian
used. I would never have made it to the headline, let alone anything with a
biggest loser title. And my mother, oh how I miss her. She seemed to look much
older, more mature in the picture than the last time I saw her.
The librarian was smiling while I was looking at the paper.
She looked really creepy witch with her shiny white buckteeth. Whatever mystery
it is that shrouds my mother, maybe this woman knows. However as she stared at
me her smile turned to a smirk, like an insult. I went from feeling confused to
angry. In the spur of all emotions I was feeling, I punched her in the face
then I grabbed the paper and ran out of the library.
I ran as fast as I could. A few times I almost tripped
because it was very dark. I felt like the librarian witch was following me
though I don’t see anyone when I looked back. I slowed down when I got near a
lamppost but my heart was still beating very fast. I looked at the paper a
couple of times still in disbelief. I looked again. I squinted. Then my walking
halted.
It dawned on me that my mother had been very fat.
