Of Rice and (Chow) Mein*

I went to the supermarket last week to get a box of cereals. I was eyeing the Fruit Loops (haven’t had them in ages) when the sales clerk manning the aisle popped beside me and cheerfully gave me her recommendations. She pointed at a box adorned with big, bold letters (FAT FREE) and said, “Ma’am, this is really good for losing weight.” Whuu..? And before I could react she pointed her snout to another and muttered, “This is sugar free and low in calories but it tastes like real chocolate. It’s also good for losing weight.” I wanted to help her lose a few pounds by whacking off her arm and prevent her from ever giving unsolicited advice, but I took a deep breath instead and cleared my head. I have no energy for this. So I gave her a not so Care Bear stare and walked away with a box of Frosties.

I should be used this, but I am not. I have heard countless strangers and relatives make insidious comments about my looks since I got back here. The sales lady at my favorite Camper store welcomed me with, “Ma’am, tumaba kayo sa Spain no” (Ma’am, you gained weight in Spain, right). Yeah, call me the walking Pata Negra. A well meaning but ever so tactless cousin recently remarked, “Wow, you really gained a lot of weight… and with Christmas just around the corner… What will you do?” Ah, dress up like Santa Claus at the Christmas party? You are definitely not getting a present this year. “I really like your hair… but what happened to your skin?” I get hives from talking to people like you, thank you very much.

It boggles me why people think that this is normal and acceptable social behavior in a civilized culture. Why do they feel the need to size you up then give you your grade in the attractiveness scale for the day? I give you ten points for your hairstyle, but minus 2 for your choice of accessories. Is this suppose to break the ice before you start talking about real things? Why can’t we just stick to the weather?

The thing that annoys me most though is people’s obsession with weight. I am five feet tall (okay… four-eleven and three fourths! About 152 cm) and weigh 105 lbs. (roughly around 47 kilos). I’m no waif but I am well within the limits of what health officials would consider normal. I was born to be round and I like it. Twelve years ago I wore braces and couldn’t eat. My weight dropped to 88-90 lbs. and I ended up looking like a 12 year-old boy. Never again.

People have been encouraging me to try the South Beach diet so I would look trimmer like the stick-thin younglings slinking around the malls. Plus, everyone is on it anyway so why not do it too. Right. Give up rice, noodles, and bread so that I could look and be like everyone else? It might be easier to just enter a Mattel factory and ask to be converted into a generic Barbie doll. What happened to following a well-balanced diet? What happened to having a personality?

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against people going on diets. I’m all for healthy eating and exercising at least three times a week, I just don’t believe in depriving myself of the little joys in life just to be more socially acceptable. Believe me, life is too short to worry if I look cool and svelte enough to be allowed outside the house. I am more concerned about the amount of fat I have socializing with the red cells in my veins than the adjudged offensive flesh clinging to me. I try to stay away from processed food, I eat brown or red rice instead of white when I can, I take brown sugar with my coffee, and get my daily helpings of vegetables and fruits. And loads of water. I will not, however, part with my occasional black Meiji chocolate, silvanas, Reese’s pieces, and cookie dough ice-cream. I will try to be healthy but I don’t want to be on my deathbed (or in a flaming 747) years from now with one thought in my head: I don’t know what a blueberry waffle with maple syrup and peanut butter tastes like anymore. I want to leave this world fulfilled and full.

Oh, and I want to be me when I go. Just the way I am, even if I end up being a social pariah. I got ambushed again at the supermarket yesterday morning. This time I was in a better mood. As soon as the hello-you’re-so-fat-stay-away-from-carbs greeting came out of an acquaintance’s mouth I quickly suggested that he keep his passive-aggressive statements to himself. Of course, I was instantly labeled as overly sensitive and defensive. He was not out to get me, he claimed, he was just pointing out the obvious. So I said goodbye to him by saying, “Your face is still crooked no matter how much you re-arrange your hair.” Hey, I’m just following protocol. I wasn’t out to get him, I was just stating a cold, hard fact.


*My apologies to Steinbeck. Like his characters I feel like an "outsider" (a Filipina with culture amnesia) struggling to understand my own unique place in this insane world.