still unknown (kimmi8) wrote,
still unknown

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ma, i'm home

Eating is a competitive sport in my family. Mom is both the referee and the one that comes in first place, usually by default or by the rest of us forfeiting. I learned at a young age that falling just short of the finish line would keep me out of trouble. Slurp the food, finish before mom was done, and I’d get an earful along with another plate of food.

“Aiyaaa. Honeeey, nice girl don’t eat like that. Proper girl no eat fast. Must be like lady, or no get far with life. And you too skinny. Are you diet?! Eat more, eat eat. I know you diet...”

“But I’m full.”

Eat too slow and I’d get, not too surprisingly, the same response. “Everybody done now. Why you sooo slow? You never get far in life eating slow. You must not eat enough… you can’t eat now? You too skinny. Are you diet?! Eat more, eat eat.”

Meals are delivered like clockwork in our house; brunch at 10am, lunch between 1-2pm, and dinner promptly at 5pm. She’ll yell once nicely and then scream at the top of her lungs if no one responds, husband included. If I happen to be out during mealtime, then I get to dine by myself with mom’s assortment of mini grandfather clocks ticking on the kitchen counter. I used to believe that things would be different after I moved out. But twelve years later, I’m still sitting at the dining table with my one place setting and dinner packed into matching Tupperware.

At least this year the food was still warm...
Tags: childhood, family, food, holidays, life, me, mom, winter
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