Today must be a trash day - dumping random thoughts and floating memories.

It was a sociology class where I learned that income to food consumption ratio is a factor in determining family's poverty level. If that's the case, I must be a very, very poor person and I guess I can live with that.

I'm an emotional eater. When happy, sad, depressed, or whatever emotional trauma I may be experiencing, I resort to food. After spending too much money on a vile amount of food, my mind goes blank and I find my short lived inner piece. Of course, I'm soon taken back to reality after a sharp pain from the heart burn starts slowly but surely attacking my internal organs.

I skipped an English class to eat Korean BBQ back in 11th grade. I couldn't ride a bicycle out of fear but I was daring enough to skip school just for a craving. The girl who skipped the class with me remains to be my best buddy after 6 years. Food is intimate. Shared stories, laughter, and our mischievous doings were the foundations of our long lasting friendship. I guess this is when using the word "priceless" would be appropriate.

It was no laughing matter when the movie "Supersize me" came out. I was that guy getting fatter by the minute. I lived that life. As a typical FOB (Fresh Off the Boat) living in States, I was hooked on McDonald's' delicious offerings at mere 3-4 dollars. I was their best customer for about a year, only later to realize my pants size was getting bigger, way bigger. Going from size 4 to 12 in less than a year was a hard fact to swallow. I still had no intentions to sue one of the largest corporations in the universe to blame on my rapid weight gain. Water replaced coke, salad replaced phosphate soaked chicken burgers, and fruits replaced fries. Soon I was able to visit the American Eagle store for a size 6 jeans. Food is poisonous when you allow them to be, but it will never be a sin for me.

Sometimes I wonder what I will have to pass to my offspring if and when I can call myself a mom. My mom is an independent, strong-willed woman who doesn't believe in the word "impossible". She has always worked 7 days a week and come home well after the sun's called it a day, but she's never failed to put delicious dinner on the table for all of us to indulge in. I was always forbidden from the kitchen, for my mom didn't want me getting used to spending too much time in there. Kitchen to my mom was a stigma of all women with fallen dreams, including her own. Being 24 years old that I am, perhaps it's now a time for me to help her see beyond the rusty knives, steaming pots, and dark circles under her eyes from what she perceived as "slavery". I one day, hope to pass to my children the love, care, and selflessness that my mom expressed to me through dinner on the table each and every day. Not because I'm expected to do as such, but because I would appreciate the opportunity to.


Hopelessly hungry. It's a good thing.