When I told my mom I was hungry last night, she advised me to fill up on water instead of having dinner. She read somewhere that the Japanese like to skip one meal a week for good health, so she of course feels immensely superior that she skips dinner every night. If she’s peckish, she drinks juice (bleh). Though she doesn’t care much about weight, she is a health freak and has hovered around 100 pounds her whole life.
I was 100 pounds in fifth grade, and at least 20 pounds heavier than her today. Ever since I outgrew her, I’ve been able to pick her up and swing her around, which kind of screws up the whole parent-child power dynamic (especially since I’ve had to take care of her other health problems). Somehow none of my grandmother’s appetite, sociability and visceral fat was inherited by her, and I got a double helping.
Grandma’s a prime example of how Asian women can be curvaceous, but most I know are like mom. It’s no secret why she’s still 100 pounds. Between skipping dinner, hating heavy/sweet food and worrying away any extra calories, she doesn’t have to give a thought to dieting. According to her, she felt chunky once in her early 20s. but started drinking green tea instead of eating snacks and returned to 100 in a few months.
“Eat what I cook for you, and you’ll be skinnier than you ever wanted,” she said when I used to live at home. Her plan for me would be boiled vegetables, yogurt and occasional lean protein–just like many celeb diets, although she’s never read or cared about that. Unlike me, who’s gone through obsessive bouts of starvation as a teen.
Being heavy when you’re young sucks. Just one more confusing thing to deal with and loosen the screws in your head. One of the best things about growing up is realizing there are more important things to fill myself with. Opinions matter less. I’m not surrounded by stick figures. And I start feeling like I should be bigger than my mom and I’m ready to take care of her if need be. I’m ready to put 100 on the shelf.