"A plate of spaghetti, six pieces of chicken nuggets, a bowl of fish soup, and a plate of French fries covered in chili sauce. And, don't forget the dessert, make it warm chocolate with milk. Oh... I could also use that 500ml lemonade as you process the order please."
The disbelief printed in the face of the waiter as he scribbled my order confirmed to me that he definitely heard me right. I get that look a lot and I kind of got used to it. In fact most of my friends have teased that my extremely huge appetite is a genetic disorder. Well if you ask me, I think they just envy me.
I come from a family that most people would refer to as humble although I think we eat as "Royalty". Ma spends her day either preparing for the next meal or cleaning up after the previous one. Meals are the only time, if you were lucky enough, you could slip in a request to Papa and at least get a promise. Further, when anyone got sick, they would first be served with twice their average consumption as the first medication; if symptoms persisted then you could see a physician. The "chiemo", Ma's name for our meals, was guided by one rule, "Your plate had to be cleared regardless of how much food you were served." Probably that and Ma's belief that food consumption was directly proportional to physical and intellectual growth, are responsible for my eating tendencies.
As I grew older and started going to school, I picked up a habit that anytime something made me uncomfortable, whether it was a sum or Sam the bully, I would seclude myself and devour whatever Ma had packed in my lunch box. Surprisingly once I was satisfied, my mind was composed and I could think straight or face my fears. I rode under this without noticing any oddity till I got to high school.
School was thousands of miles from home. All my conscious childhood memories were made inside our camp bubble and I hadn't as much as stepped out the camp let alone travelled that far. Papa and Ma hadn't gone to high school and had no advice whatsoever to help me cope. I remember Ma looking into my teary eyes promising to bring me as much food as she could the next time she was allowed into the school.
The subsequent weeks were rough as I not only kept unsuccessfully asking for extra portions but also had to bear the perplexed stares from fellow students. When I eventually adapted to the rations, I had a change of perspective. I got a deeper understanding of addictions as mind illusions that we are totally dependent on some amounts of different substances which couldn't be further than the truth. That prompted me to join my school's guidance and counselling team where I shared my story to counsel fellow students who were reported to be drug addicts.
Since then through my appetite for different taste of food I have learnt to identify and appreciate different cultures in my country. For instance when served beef I could identify the economic activity, geographic location, and even guess the mood of the cook by looking at the sizes, the amount of soup in the stew, and how precisely the spices have been added respectively. This has led me to appreciate our different cultures in defining who we are and celebrating our diversity.
However, control over my appetite doesn't mean it got any smaller. When I miss home, I eat. When I code, I eat. When I am worried, I eat. When people get worried that I eat too much, I eat. The only difference is I have a choice, but mostly I still chose to eat.