Hungry for Love

One of the most common phrases one hears in Singapore is, “Have you eaten yet?” When everyone is concerned about you having eaten, you can forget about dieting. Food here is abundant and not only in quantity, but taste. You are sure to pack on the pounds in just a few months; the expats call it, “The Singapore Spread.” Sometimes I find myself eating while walking, eating while waiting for the bus, eating before getting onto stage, eating my feelings. I take pleasure in not being acknowledged by the sea of black haired strangers at times because I can eat anything my heart desires without being questioned.

For some reason, the times I get hit on in Singapore are the times I eat—maybe because that’s all I do, or all to do. It started with, “Chicken Rice”, Singapore’s signature dish. At the Ayer Rajah Market hawker center, I ordered my black pepper chicken for a midnight snack. The pot bellied Indian man behind the register served me my chicken rice as if it was fine Peking duck on a silver platter. “Oh your hair is so red,” (common opening line). Typical stranger banter took place and then it came… “Can I have your number?" There it was, the line I used to be so accustomed to hear.

Now for exhibit B, which took place at Marche. Marche is one of the best places to eat fresh food cooked right in front of you. Salads, pastas, grilled vegetables, fresh coconuts, ginger beer, tasty deserts, and flavorful bread color the restaurant in it’s glory. The cloud shaped dough called my name and as I approached, the baker man exclaimed, “You came for my bread!” I knew I shouldn’t be eating refined sugars, but the smile in the baker man’s eyes lead me to believe it was going to be alright. Then the words came as I picked out a cheese-mushroom-bread-melody, “You are very beautiful,” the baker man said. Did I just choose the holy grail of breads to receive such praise? I managed to smile the rest of the day...and so did my love handles.

Later in the week, I made my way to a familiar American eatery, Subway. While picking out my toppings, the sandwich maker said to me, “Your eyes are trouble. Very beautiful.” Trouble? The only trouble about these eyes is that they are too big for my stomach.

With all of these experiences, I began positive eating reinforcement. I subconsciously started to eat increasingly more until I would hear those magical words, “You’re beautiful” again. Then the day came when I saw a Mexican food stall at a hawker center. My eyes lit up; a taste of home was only a few bites away! After scarfing down my comida, eating came to a halt. I realized there is a reason why Mexican food isn’t common in Asia.

What was happening? Food has always been my go-to “man.” After a long day’s work it was there for me, after a long cry it gave me warmth, after feeling homesick it reminded me of home—food, glorious food! The one thing I became so attached to, the one thing that provided me comfort and love finally turned on me! That’s right folks, food poisoning. I never knew white porcelain would be my rebound, but it was...and for hours…hours.

For weeks after the betrayal, I had to eat the dull things in life, like soup and crackers. Was this all there was? Will my tummy ever be the same? Will I ever be able to look at a hawker center again and not be afraid? I have hope. I will eat again. And he is out there…one bite at a time.