Waiting for my real life to begin

Any minute now, my ship is coming in

I'll keep checking the horizon

I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves

Come crashing down down, on me

And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart

Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

Fortunately, by the time I heard this song, it merely reminded me that my life had already begun.

I used to be waiting. When I was a teenager I thought...or was led to believe if I lost say 20 kilos then my life would magically fall into place.

But really my life had started somewhat sooner.

It started it the womb.

Well it really started when I was born. When I came out I was one chubby baby. They called me the Michelin baby. Yes, like the tires. Luckily I didn't understand English at the time. I could've got a complex.

That came later.

I think I must've evened out a bit at some point but even at primary school I started to get chubby again.

While I was a growing child my family always ate well. Though we weren't the most well off people, there were generous serves of tasty food. Mum and dad were inspired cooks and tried cooking with flavours beyond white-middle-Australia. I loved hanging out in the kitchen with mum. Always part of the action, especially when it came to the baking.

It wasn't until those cursed adolescent years that the relationship with food entered the love/hate stage. After a childhood blessed with an abundance of food, I came to find myself of larger proportions than some. One high school friend took it upon himself to point out I was in fact the fattest person in our year 8 class (of over 100 people) photograph.

Isn't that just what every teenage girl needs to hear?

But of course he wasn't the only one.

Random boys in passing cars yelling out "fat arse," as I walked down the street.

A grown woman telling me I was fatter than her and she'd had three children.

Random boys in passing cars yelling out "fucking fat," while I was actually walking for exercise.

A supposed friend saying that we just couldn't tiptoe around it anymore: I was fat.

And of course being surrounded by generally not very happy over weight people.

That is, my family.

Inevitably, the connection between the food and the fat was made. Years of yo-yo dieting ensued. Lots of 'low-fat' (high sugar of course) food. Eating up the advertising lies as quickly as the food. Holding firmly to the belief that if it's low fat you can eat more of it, right? My family's previously interesting menu was replaced with all the lower-fat less flavour-some substitutes.

There was the stint in Weight Watchers which was actually the beginning of the end for my attempts at weight loss. There was a check list for whether you were ready to lose weight.

One of the questions was "are you ready for this to control your life?"

And I remember at the time thinking...

No, actually I'm not.

I don't want to do this for the rest of my life.

But I ticked yes, because at the time I wanted nothing more than to lose the weight so I could enter my adulthood as a skinny person.

I wanted to lose the weight before I was 18.

But it didn't happen.

When I went to university, I was still fat. Still struggling.

But there was a niggling in the back of my mind. When I was home alone and looking in at myself in the mirror (sometimes...not all the time) I didn't actually hate my body. I didn't think it was that bad. I didn't feel inhibited by it either. I was always very flexible and agile. I could always bend down and touch my toes. It was only when I was around other people (thinner people) I was reminded that I was overweight.

Then things really changed.

And I have an admission to make.

I don't know if it is a bad thing.

But, I have to admit it began when someone else kind-of-liked-me-a-lot...

just the way I was.

That is aside from my other virtues, she actually considered my body to be amongst them.

She didn't love me in spite of my body she loved me, my brain, my mind and my body.

And she introduced me to a whole new world of food and a whole love of food, real food. Good food.

Not low-fat pseudo-healthy food.

I worry how I would be faring now had I not met her. Would I still be struggling, still waiting for the day I dropped those kilos so I could start my real life?

However, in my third year of university I moved out of home. Then things started to go in the other direction. I stopped caring about losing weight and rebelled against the prior self-inflicted control. Also given that I didn't really have very much money, I indulged my loves of chips and $10 steak and discovered a world copious amounts of alcohol.

The student lifestyle does takes it's toll. But it needed to be done.

Helped in finding the middle ground.

The middle ground is a very tasty place.

I love food. I love all those things you are told a bad for you but taste so fucking good: cream, salt, wine, butter.

God, I love butter. I have to write another post about the virtues of butter.

My life has already begun, it began about 23 and 1/4 years ago but it really started getting good when I stopped worrying about my fat arse.

In fact, I love food so much I want to make it my life.

I want to go back to school and study commercial cookery.

I want to own my own cafe and make the world's best Eggs Florentine.

I want to travel the world with my beloved and eat our way around the 100 best restaurants.

I want to work with her as she makes her pots so I can make food for them.

I want, I want, I want.

And I want to food to drive it all.

Oh, the irony.