First and foremost, I feel like I should give a disclaimer: I have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder, nor do I believe that my behaviour around food warrants a diagnosis. Nevertheless, I do believe that the way I consume food is very much influenced by how my mental wellbeing is at any given point in time. Sometimes it can be energising, sometimes it can be destructive—albeit still within the context that most people would deem normal. That being said, my relationship with food can still be complicated at times and I’m sure there are people like me out there as well, so please let me indulge myself in my story.
Food has always been a huge part of my life. I love smelling food, I love tasting food, I love making food and I love capturing food. All my life I have always been considered The Fat One because of how passionate I am about food. Yet, that hasn’t always been the case.
First and foremost, I feel like I should give a disclaimer: I have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder, nor do I believe that my behaviour around food warrants a diagnosis. Nevertheless, I do believe that the way I consume food is very much influenced by how my mental wellbeing is at any given point in time. Sometimes it can be energising, sometimes it can be destructive—albeit still within the context that most people would deem normal. That being said, my relationship with food can still be complicated at times and I’m sure there are people like me out there as well, so please let me indulge myself in my story.
Food has always been a huge part of my life. I love smelling food, I love tasting food, I love making food and I love capturing food. All my life I have always been considered The Fat One because of how passionate I am about food. Yet, that hasn’t always been the case.
The Recipe for Disaster
Back in 2nd grade, I remember my Mom being concerned about my declining appetite that she gave me a curcuma-and-fish-oil supplement. Despite ending up allergic to the concoction—incidentally, it was my only allergy, what does that tell ya?—it worked amazingly well in increasing my appetite. I’d like to think that was the start of what would become the perpetually hungry woman I am today. I don’t remember my relationship with food prior to this moment.
To me, being fat feels like the natural course of things. My sister has always been the pretty, skinny and meek one. I was the loud, fat and funny one. It felt like a clearly established role and I never once thought it was cruel or unfair, but I suppose it was pretty damaging to my psyche.
At some point, without realising it, I must’ve thought, “Well, if I’m going to be fat, I might as well go all in,” because my diet completely deteriorated as I entered puberty. There were weeks when I would have two packets of instant noodles everyday. My Mom was so horrified, she put a stop to it and started a diet program with me. Looking back now, I just realised that it pretty much coincided with my complicated friendship situation at the time. Had I noticed, I think I could’ve seen a pattern forming.
The diet program my Mom put me on was pretty simple and successful. All she made me do was quit rice for dinner. What made it so effective was the fact that she did it with me too; she was my accountability buddy—we kept each other in check. It was really fun for a while, reporting on each other’s milestones—how much weight we lost and all. That is…until she passed away.
Back in 2nd grade, I remember my Mom being concerned about my declining appetite that she gave me a curcuma-and-fish-oil supplement. Despite ending up allergic to the concoction—incidentally, it was my only allergy, what does that tell ya?—it worked amazingly well in increasing my appetite. I’d like to think that was the start of what would become the perpetually hungry woman I am today. I don’t remember my relationship with food prior to this moment.
To me, being fat feels like the natural course of things. My sister has always been the pretty, skinny and meek one. I was the loud, fat and funny one. It felt like a clearly established role and I never once thought it was cruel or unfair, but I suppose it was pretty damaging to my psyche.
At some point, without realising it, I must’ve thought, “Well, if I’m going to be fat, I might as well go all in,” because my diet completely deteriorated as I entered puberty. There were weeks when I would have two packets of instant noodles everyday. My Mom was so horrified, she put a stop to it and started a diet program with me. Looking back now, I just realised that it pretty much coincided with my complicated friendship situation at the time. Had I noticed, I think I could’ve seen a pattern forming.
The diet program my Mom put me on was pretty simple and successful. All she made me do was quit rice for dinner. What made it so effective was the fact that she did it with me too; she was my accountability buddy—we kept each other in check. It was really fun for a while, reporting on each other’s milestones—how much weight we lost and all. That is…until she passed away.
Naturally, I didn’t keep track of what I ate around the time of her death, so I can’t remember whether or not I stuck to the diet program. That being said, I did still hold on to it years afterwards. It just wasn’t as fun.
All throughout high school my relationship with food seemed pretty balanced—or so I recall. The diet program was still pretty much on, my nutrient intake was pretty good and my weight was pretty stable. I don’t remember having any alarming food-related issues at the time. There was a time gap between finishing high school and departing to Germany where I found a little piece of heaven in my first romantic experience—and, with it, my relationship with food and my body improved exponentially. I ate very well and in moderation, I exercised regularly and I went to sleep at the recommended hour. This was the start of my path to my ideal weight—more on that in Germany.
Naturally, I didn’t keep track of what I ate around the time of her death, so I can’t remember whether or not I stuck to the diet program. That being said, I did still hold on to it years afterwards. It just wasn’t as fun.
All throughout high school my relationship with food seemed pretty balanced—or so I recall. The diet program was still pretty much on, my nutrient intake was pretty good and my weight was pretty stable. I don’t remember having any alarming food-related issues at the time. There was a time gap between finishing high school and departing to Germany where I found a little piece of heaven in my first romantic experience—and, with it, my relationship with food and my body improved exponentially. I ate very well and in moderation, I exercised regularly and I went to sleep at the recommended hour. This was the start of my path to my ideal weight—more on that in Germany.
Secret Ingredient to Looking My Best
For the most part, I ate in little portions but rather often. Compared to before and today, back then I ate a lot less. And, since eating out costed a fortune and the taste was a lot blander, indulging could only be done in the kitchen. It motivated me to experiment with recipes and try out dishes that I would otherwise never have tried. This put a catalyst to my flourishing love for cooking and baking, resulting in numerous recipes on this little blog.
However, it also meant that if I didn’t whip something up, I would most likely have to starve—which happened a lot, because cooking could sometimes be a hassle and I often chose to go to bed instead. Or it would lead to the haphazard diet I mentioned earlier. I relied a lot on easy-to-bake cuisines that would take 30 minutes or less, or ready-made seasonings that I stocked from back home. I also actively learnt to make elaborate dishes—from a game, no less. This was my golden era in the kitchen.
Germany was the first time I realised that how I eat could reflect how I actually feel deep inside. It was my first experience having to cook and provide meals for myself regularly. Not only was there no mother at home to cook for me, the food in Germany also has a closing time, does not taste the same as food back home and eating out is pretty costly compared to homemade meals. Needless to say, it changed my eating habit.
In Germany, I did not really distinguish between breakfast, lunch and dinner. I ate when I could and I would eat whatever. I would have popcorn for breakfast, a piece of broccoli for lunch or a pint of ice cream for dinner—not on the same day, mind you. Despite my haphazard diet, though, this was the healthiest era of my life. There are probably a lot of other contributing factors to this, to be honest, but I have to say my diet was surprisingly well balanced.
Germany was the first time I realised that how I eat could reflect how I actually feel deep inside. It was my first experience having to cook and provide meals for myself regularly. Not only was there no mother at home to cook for me, the food in Germany also has a closing time, does not taste the same as food back home and eating out is pretty costly compared to homemade meals. Needless to say, it changed my eating habit.
In Germany, I did not really distinguish between breakfast, lunch and dinner. I ate when I could and I would eat whatever. I would have popcorn for breakfast, a piece of broccoli for lunch or a pint of ice cream for dinner—not on the same day, mind you. Despite my haphazard diet, though, this was the healthiest era of my life. There are probably a lot of other contributing factors to this, to be honest, but I have to say my diet was surprisingly well balanced.
For the most part, I ate in little portions but rather often. Compared to before and today, back then I ate a lot less. And, since eating out costed a fortune and the taste was a lot blander, indulging could only be done in the kitchen. It motivated me to experiment with recipes and try out dishes that I would otherwise never have tried. This put a catalyst to my flourishing love for cooking and baking, resulting in numerous recipes on this little blog.
However, it also meant that if I didn’t whip something up, I would most likely have to starve—which happened a lot, because cooking could sometimes be a hassle and I often chose to go to bed instead. Or it would lead to the haphazard diet I mentioned earlier. I relied a lot on easy-to-bake cuisines that would take 30 minutes or less, or ready-made seasonings that I stocked from back home. I also actively learnt to make elaborate dishes—from a game, no less. This was my golden era in the kitchen.
The result of all that was losing a lot of kilos and acquiring what I would later on refer to as my ideal weight. It was largely due to how I ate as well as my habit to walk absolutely everywhere—Europe is truly the best place for pedestrians, especially Germany, ironically enough. I mentioned the numbers and features of my body in this post before, so you could read more details there. But, as it turns out, it was pretty much influenced by my loneliness. Despite having friends, I often chose to do things alone—live alone, cook alone, explore places alone, take photos alone, everything alone—and I was surprised to find I felt lonely.
And, because I felt lonely, I often didn’t even bother. What was the point? Why make good food if you’re the only one eating it? Why explore new cuisines if there was nobody there to share a plate? Why wash dishes if you were going to use that same ones later? While this devil-may-care attitude led to a lot of kitchen experiments—pasta with bumbu rujak, strawberry on fried rice, chicken wings topped with black olives—it was so damaging in more ways than just food. And, yeah, there were times when I would meet up with friends and cook or share a meal together, but they were far and few between. Most of the time I was left to my own devices.
The result of all that was losing a lot of kilos and acquiring what I would later on refer to as my ideal weight. It was largely due to how I ate as well as my habit to walk absolutely everywhere—Europe is truly the best place for pedestrians, especially Germany, ironically enough. I mentioned the numbers and features of my body in this post before, so you could read more details there. But, as it turns out, it was pretty much influenced by my loneliness. Despite having friends, I often chose to do things alone—live alone, cook alone, explore places alone, take photos alone, everything alone—and I was surprised to find I felt lonely.
And, because I felt lonely, I often didn’t even bother. What was the point? Why make good food if you’re the only one eating it? Why explore new cuisines if there was nobody there to share a plate? Why wash dishes if you were going to use that same ones later? While this devil-may-care attitude led to a lot of kitchen experiments—pasta with bumbu rujak, strawberry on fried rice, chicken wings topped with black olives—it was so damaging in more ways than just food. And, yeah, there were times when I would meet up with friends and cook or share a meal together, but they were far and few between. Most of the time I was left to my own devices.
If we wanted to go deeper into what was inherently wrong with my psyche back then, I guess we could say that my loneliness was rooted in the act of being loved at arm’s length—mostly perpetrated by the man I loved at the time. In turn, I also cherished everyone else only from a distance.
There were possibly only two people I knew then who I considered my closest friends—Saku-chan and my roommate Adit. And I happened to very often share meals with them—breakfast, lunch, dinner, anything goes—and would lose track of time when I was with them. Did we become close because we ate so much together or did we share meals a lot because we were bonded? Who knows.
In 2014, I was rejected by an art school for the final time. Devastated, I started packing to go back home. My appetite declined drastically for months, along with my interest in living. My weight also dropped significantly. I thought it was a sign of clinical depression, but it turned out to be tuberculosis.
If we wanted to go deeper into what was inherently wrong with my psyche back then, I guess we could say that my loneliness was rooted in the act of being loved at arm’s length—mostly perpetrated by the man I loved at the time. In turn, I also cherished everyone else only from a distance.
There were possibly only two people I knew then who I considered my closest friends—Saku-chan and my roommate Adit. And I happened to very often share meals with them—breakfast, lunch, dinner, anything goes—and would lose track of time when I was with them. Did we become close because we ate so much together or did we share meals a lot because we were bonded? Who knows.
In 2014, I was rejected by an art school for the final time. Devastated, I started packing to go back home. My appetite declined drastically for months, along with my interest in living. My weight also dropped significantly. I thought it was a sign of clinical depression, but it turned out to be tuberculosis.
The Healing Intake
When you’ve been programmed to feel and think fat for so long, an appetite decline and dropping body weight almost feel like a blessing. What I didn’t understand is how the people closest to me missed it. I lost so much weight, I looked like a zombie—look at this photo! To be fair, a lot of people had raised the alarm, but they weren’t close enough to me for me to believe them. What’s even crazier is that I thought I was still fat.
I have brushed on my experience with TBC here and here before, but I don’t think I’ve ever truly told you how it felt. First of all, my appetite declined so drastically that I could only finish a third—or maybe even a quarter—of my usual portions. Secondly, I couldn’t walk for very long, let alone run, because my breath was really short—I was practically wheezing all the time. I made myself cough to try to sort it out, but it turns out my lung capacity was down 50%.
My sister was horrified the moment she saw me at the airport and knew instantly something was wrong. Despite all that, I still believed I was fat.
When you’ve been programmed to feel and think fat for so long, an appetite decline and dropping body weight almost feel like a blessing. What I didn’t understand is how the people closest to me missed it. I lost so much weight, I looked like a zombie—look at this photo! To be fair, a lot of people had raised the alarm, but they weren’t close enough to me for me to believe them. What’s even crazier is that I thought I was still fat.
I have brushed on my experience with TBC here and here before, but I don’t think I’ve ever truly told you how it felt. First of all, my appetite declined so drastically that I could only finish a third—or maybe even a quarter—of my usual portions. Secondly, I couldn’t walk for very long, let alone run, because my breath was really short—I was practically wheezing all the time. I made myself cough to try to sort it out, but it turns out my lung capacity was down 50%.
My sister was horrified the moment she saw me at the airport and knew instantly something was wrong. Despite all that, I still believed I was fat.
On the path to healing, I ate a lot. I was finally back to my normal portions, and then some. The medication increased my appetite exponentially, yet it was pretty hard on the stomach, so I was also advised to eat a lot. The thing about eating, however, is that the body and mind don’t necessarily know how to moderate your eating portions. Once I opened the gates, all hell broke loose. Sure, it made sense for me to eat as much as I could when I was in treatment, but then the treatment was done and my eating habit was still the same. Needless to say, I gained a lot more weight than what I would consider ideal.
On the path to healing, I ate a lot. I was finally back to my normal portions, and then some. The medication increased my appetite exponentially, yet it was pretty hard on the stomach, so I was also advised to eat a lot. The thing about eating, however, is that the body and mind don’t necessarily know how to moderate your eating portions. Once I opened the gates, all hell broke loose. Sure, it made sense for me to eat as much as I could when I was in treatment, but then the treatment was done and my eating habit was still the same. Needless to say, I gained a lot more weight than what I would consider ideal.
For a while afterwards, my diet went back to normal—meaning, relatively healthy. It was mostly due to my financial condition—no money, no splurging on food, you know. I chose to eat at home more often, or when I would buy food from somewhere else, I would buy from street food stalls or small eateries that are most cost-efficient. However, all this changed when Covid attacked.
I don’t think this is something specifically for me—I feel like everyone in the world experienced it too. Most of us spent our days in our house, shut off from the rest of the world. What more could we do but eat? Safe to say, it was out of control. I snacked every chance that I got and I would snack hard.
It was no surprise that I fell ill again, this time due to an abscess in my bottom area—which, apparently, grew because of my irresponsible diet. A painful year and two surgeries later, I was determined to change my eating habit all over again and become more responsible with my food.
For a while afterwards, my diet went back to normal—meaning, relatively healthy. It was mostly due to my financial condition—no money, no splurging on food, you know. I chose to eat at home more often, or when I would buy food from somewhere else, I would buy from street food stalls or small eateries that are most cost-efficient. However, all this changed when Covid attacked.
I don’t think this is something specifically for me—I feel like everyone in the world experienced it too. Most of us spent our days in our house, shut off from the rest of the world. What more could we do but eat? Safe to say, it was out of control. I snacked every chance that I got and I would snack hard.
It was no surprise that I fell ill again, this time due to an abscess in my bottom area—which, apparently, grew because of my irresponsible diet. A painful year and two surgeries later, I was determined to change my eating habit all over again and become more responsible with my food.
This Is How I Eat Now
These days I have to admit: I haven’t been eating responsibly either. In fact, I have developed new habits that feel destructive to my body—such as having to have some sugary drink everyday, nonstop snacking and loads of junk food. While it is easy to point to indulgence or laziness as the cause of these damaging habits, I know there is something else happening underneath.
Looking back, I could really see the major influence my emotions have over my eating habit. When I feel empty, my appetite would diminish—sometimes in a fleeting moment, sometimes over a long period. When I feel stressed or overwhelmed, I would turn to food for comfort—often treating myself to too much sugar and garbage.
Lately, I have been feeling pretty stagnant—like I’m not moving forward or growing or nothing of note happened. It has urged me to look for flavours in life, often in the form of something yummy. Every time I find even the slightest moment when my mouth isn’t consuming anything, I would feel uneasy. I should be tasting something all the time, chewing and drinking continuously. Perpetually hungry, perpetually thirsty.
As a result, I gained more kilos than I have ever done my entire life and most of my clothes hardly fit me—which is crazy, because most of them are newly acquired recently. The worst part for me, however, is the fact that I was constantly insatiable. Even though I was eating all the time, I could barely enjoy 90% of what I consumed. What was the point then?
These days I have to admit: I haven’t been eating responsibly either. In fact, I have developed new habits that feel destructive to my body—such as having to have some sugary drink everyday, nonstop snacking and loads of junk food. While it is easy to point to indulgence or laziness as the cause of these damaging habits, I know there is something else happening underneath.
Looking back, I could really see the major influence my emotions have over my eating habit. When I feel empty, my appetite would diminish—sometimes in a fleeting moment, sometimes over a long period. When I feel stressed or overwhelmed, I would turn to food for comfort—often treating myself to too much sugar and garbage.
Lately, I have been feeling pretty stagnant—like I’m not moving forward or growing or nothing of note happened. It has urged me to look for flavours in life, often in the form of something yummy. Every time I find even the slightest moment when my mouth isn’t consuming anything, I would feel uneasy. I should be tasting something all the time, chewing and drinking continuously. Perpetually hungry, perpetually thirsty.
As a result, I gained more kilos than I have ever done my entire life and most of my clothes hardly fit me—which is crazy, because most of them are newly acquired recently. The worst part for me, however, is the fact that I was constantly insatiable. Even though I was eating all the time, I could barely enjoy 90% of what I consumed. What was the point then?
I want to remember again how good food can be, how good it feels to make food and to taste it later on. It’s so debilitating to think of food as something that fills you up more than just your stomach. It’s putting expectations in food that they’re not supposed to fulfill in the first place. Don’t get me wrong—food can make you happy or destroy your mood, but it won’t be able to fix whatever problems you have in your life. Food is a temporary fix, it fills you up until you are hungry again. I want to feel that hunger—actual hunger for food, not hunger for something food cannot solve.
Today I want to do better. I want to respect food again, to really cherish its taste and texture as it slides into my mouth. I want to embrace where its ingredients come from and how it is made—as well as who makes it, if it isn’t me. I don’t want food to just be a tool I use to fill the void, whatever kind of void it may be. I don’t want to hate food ever and blame it for the excess fat in my body. Food is, of course, never just food, but I want it to at least serve its original purpose—to sustain me. That doesn’t mean I cannot experiment and try out new tastes, it just means I can no longer wish it could solve all my problems.
Here’s to all the food we have savoured and will devour in the future! May we remember how they taste and have a healthy relationship with them, so that we may eat them again!
I want to remember again how good food can be, how good it feels to make food and to taste it later on. It’s so debilitating to think of food as something that fills you up more than just your stomach. It’s putting expectations in food that they’re not supposed to fulfill in the first place. Don’t get me wrong—food can make you happy or destroy your mood, but it won’t be able to fix whatever problems you have in your life. Food is a temporary fix, it fills you up until you are hungry again. I want to feel that hunger—actual hunger for food, not hunger for something food cannot solve.
Today I want to do better. I want to respect food again, to really cherish its taste and texture as it slides into my mouth. I want to embrace where its ingredients come from and how it is made—as well as who makes it, if it isn’t me. I don’t want food to just be a tool I use to fill the void, whatever kind of void it may be. I don’t want to hate food ever and blame it for the excess fat in my body. Food is, of course, never just food, but I want it to at least serve its original purpose—to sustain me. That doesn’t mean I cannot experiment and try out new tastes, it just means I can no longer wish it could solve all my problems.
Here’s to all the food we have savoured and will devour in the future! May we remember how they taste and have a healthy relationship with them, so that we may eat them again!