Queasy commute

Do I have an eating disorder? It would not be the first time in my life.

Mealtimes were tense when I was a kid. My parents had lived through a war and could not tolerate waste. ‘Anything you leave will be wrapped up and sent to children in India,’ my mum would say.

So I left everything – not out of generosity to Indian kids, my dad usually finished up my leftovers anyway – but because the whole eating thing made me feel physically sick.

‘Let him starve,’ said our kindly GP. And I nearly did. In desperation, my mum would lace my mashed potato with food colouring (who in their right mind would eat blue mash?) and secretly stir eggs into hot beverages. Yuck. Food was not for me.

Around my 21st birthday, I began making up for lost time. But even now, I cannot eat breakfast in someone else’s home, and just the thought of warmed-up leftovers makes me queasy.


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