I haven’t written about how i love food. Not how i love eating but how i love the look of food as an art. I could cook and decorate a meal on the table lile i’m never going to eat it. Mornings at the Coast were never complete without mahamri na mbaazi ( pigeon peas).
Mahamri alone, the yeasted dough with cardamom is local for breakfast, supper and any other tea time in bet
The pigeon peas with coconut sauce can complete a couple for most dough stuff e.g chapati
I’m afraid I’ve started having a negative attitude towards food.
I stare at my plate, it no longer looks like food. It looks like carbs, fats, proteins; it looks like poison. I stare in my purse, it no longer looks like a black hole for my house keys. It looks like a safe haven for my ulcers kit.My stomach is no longer skin, it’s a grid split into quadrants; quadrants that are made to be pampered with tasteless food.What scares me is failure, deudonal gastration and chronic ulceration increasing instead of reducing. Exercising at the wrong time. Forgetting my glucose tabs when I’m in desperate need. Not knowing how to respond to people saying “eat this,” when I know I can’t. Pricking the same finger too many times. Running out of test strips.
Failing at being a “good” stress controller. Failing at thinking too much and staying hungry for long hours.
I have more questions than I do answers. And that is what perhaps scares me the most.I have a new normal, except, it’s not normal yet.