I am an emotional eater. Right now the only thing on my mind is the curry popcorn that is lying in the kitchen cupboard. I cannot remember when I started becoming an emotional eater. My mother remembers me going to the fridge to open the door and only eating a piece of chocolate from an entire bar. Maybe it is really her lousy cooking.

It was the highlight of my weekends to be able to make my own french toast every Saturday morning. During the school holidays, I would make my own pasta or heat up the pre-packaged rosti. My heart would thump into overdrive whenever I walked to Crown Centre to takeaway from A&W after school. I would buy curly fries, coney dogs and chicken wings and rush home to watch a rerun on TV with my lunch. I would order both fries and onion rings with my double mushroom swiss from BK. Especially in hall, when I only ate cereal for dinner and forced myself not to go behind behind’s 7-11 to buy bags of over priced potato chips, I lost my self control at Fong Sheng with maggi goreng and cheese mushroom prata and a milo peng all together at once.

Eating happy food really makes me happy. Especially as a worker bee. All the crap that is so hard to swallow goes down better with Mos Cheeseburger and Butterfly prawns and apple soda. I am a cheap date. I love Macs, KFC, BK, Long’s John Silver, Mos, Carl’s Jr and Popeye Chicken so much, it is not very funny. Jupes complained that she got fat in US because all we ate was fast food. But we were in the land of fast food. Wendy’s, IHOP, Cheesecake Factory.

But as old age catches on, the thought of various cancers and more importantly (sorry, I have wrong priorities) is my expanding waistline, my love handles hanging over my pants, my thighs rubbing against each other. The worry that I do not care for proper food, only food that comes in packets with artifical flavourings like cheese, cheese and more cheese.