Skip Dinner Be Thinner

Skip Dinner Be Thinner

“Yo panda bear!” shouted Chris Donovan, the most popular jock in the school, while he laughed at Madison Eatmon with his jock buddies following him.

Madison was a tall, wide girl, presumably the biggest in her school. She had a beautiful face, but it did nothing to help her hide the extra 20 kilograms of her full body. She was bullied and laughed at almost every day, but this was her last day of misery; The last day of high school.

Madison was not the most social girl, but she followed every celebrity on Instagram. They became her idols, with their tight and skinny bellies, thick bottoms and narrow hips- all provided with a strict fitness routine.

“You can make it happen if you wish for it,” her dad said from behind after peeking at Madison’s phone. Madison kept staring at this strong fitness model on her phone, “you think so?” she did not wait for a reply since what she needed to hear was already said.

*Alarm ring*

8 in the morning. She looks messy but she reached that point of motivation. It has already been the 10th morning she went jogging. She would wake up and make a strong black coffee to give her the energy she needs because this is what they say to do. She would run miles over miles, not willing to stop. She would come home and trash the chocolate chip cookies she used to have every morning and replace them with a full meal of proteins and veggies. This was her limitless routine: run, eat, sleep, and repeat. Her old gigantic clothes did not fit her anymore- her body fat vanished within 4 months.

The day before college loaded her with extra motivation to keep pushing herself to the celebrity body she was aspiring for. She bought new clothes and tried them on over and over again, she took a closer look at herself in the mirror grabbing the extra skin that is left on her belly but then sighing with dissatisfaction.  

She did her morning run today too, of course, but she was not letting her new clothes be worn yet. “I did have an extra piece of bread this morning” she said to herself. She rushed to the bathroom, agitated by the thoughts of her breakfast, and without hesitating too much, she leaned down to the toilet, throwing up her morning meal. For a few seconds she breathed heavily, wiped her mouth, then washed her face to look refreshed and less pale.

First day of college she let herself wear the new clothes she had bought. She walked in the campus with her shoulders back, looking at people in their eyes and not on the floor- she went straight to her locker while people’s comments made her walk with a smirk on her face. She closed her locker and she saw Chris Donovan’s face right next to her, he turned his head to look at who was standing next to him and for a split second he did not recognize her.

“Madison?!” he arched his eyebrows together. She looked at him, taking a step forward “panda bear for you,” then walked away. She never entered the cafeterias, dining rooms or the food stores in the campus- she had her own box of veggies and a bottle of water. She did not need real food since people’s positive comments fed her well enough.

She couldn’t get enough of it, she threw up at least once a day, and with her weight loss increasing by each day, she measured her body every morning, kept track of her belly, always making sure it was skinny enough. This was her new routine, and since it was never enough, she never stopped. People now commented on her skinny body as they could see her bones- she was not getting any compliments now, so she pushed harder, running miles twice a day. Her skin never looked paler, and the black circles around her eyes became more and more visible. Her shoulders bent when she walked, once again to the bathroom next to her class.

Chris Donavon was right behind her, holding the bathroom’s door open before it closed completely. He heard her try to throw up, his jaw muscles tightened, his heart was beating fast, realizing what was happening. He burst in the bathroom when he saw Madison laid unconscious on her own puke on the floor. He rushed to her, carrying her in his arms “Madison wake up!! Madison…. I am sorry! Please wake up!!” 

Wilted Love in Little Tokyo

Wilted Love in Little Tokyo

My Japanese love started in 2016 when I was just 18 years old. On summer- break from college, I decided to go to Japan, to experience something different from the banal American culture that surrounded me. I met Ichiro at one of the bars I first attended to in Japan. Ichiro was almost six feet tall, his hair was black as coal with a sharp shine. He had a swimmer’s body, not too buff nor too lean- the one you would see in Korean fashion shows. Or maybe it was Japanese.

That night, when his mouth curved to a flirty smile exposing his white perfect teeth and his eyes narrowed till you could barely see them- I fell in love.

We spent this month together as if we were in a relationship for three years already. He showed me around more than I have ever expected to see, and this became a one-month routine. Our mornings started with a traditional Japanese breakfast and ended with several cocktails at the same bar, where we met, and finally making love in his bedroom.

We were on our way to the airport, holding our hands not ready to let go, “I will message you when I land back in California, drive safely back home. I love you” I said before I pulled him closer for a long farewell kiss.

“Okay” he said back, giving me that same first smile I fell for at that bar.

I landed in California and headed home to San Francisco, “I am home! What have you been up to?” I messaged Ichiro while I was waiting for a taxi. I held my phone so stiffly that it left a mark on my fingers- there was no reply.

After realizing I was just a one month stand for Ichiro by getting no response from him, I found myself depressed and desperate to reach him in any way possible, unsuccessfully. I wanted my time back, I wanted the memories to fade away but at the same time, I wanted to feel the same way as I did then. Wherever I went I saw him. I hallucinated Japanese people on campus all the time.

“Jess, if you really want to recall your experiences with this Asian dude why don’t you go to Little Tokyo?” My best friend asked me, persuading me to make a closure and leave my broken heart on the shelf of tiny furry hearts you see in the Little Tokyo resort stores. And so a week after returning from Japan, there began the end of my Japanese experience.

I clicked “accept”. Reserving a single room in “Kimpton Buchanan Hotel” in San Francisco Little Tokyo. “Be ready for a full Japanese experience” said the page after my payment. Was I ready?

I packed a bag and courage for three days, knowing that this is going to be a proper goodbye from my Japanese experience.

Everything in Little Tokyo screamed “Ichiro” to me, the red and white colors of the buildings’ walls, the Japanese letters on each store, the anime posters on the walls. It all reminded me of him.

I finished my nights with sushi and cocktails at Hinodeya Ramen Bar, just like we used to do together. Around me there were happy people, laughing and drinking as this was a vacation for them but for me a business. On my way back to the hotel I saw this one store called “Kawaii”, this is how Ichiro used to call me. I put my hands on the store’s glass to look inside. The store was of tiny dolls, Hello Kitty in so many sizes and colors, Pokémon creatures, small vintage furniture for decoration and plenty of tiny furry creatures with huge sweet eyes. I looked up again at the name of the store wondering what it was about, and why did this name fit me.

On my last day in Little Tokyo I decided to go to the famous event of the Cherry Blossom Festival. I thought it would be the proper way to separate myself from this colorful culture and put it behind me. The festival was just like I wished it to be. Food stands everywhere selling Japanese food on sticks and in origami boxes, actual cherry blossom trees hypnotizing by their delicate pink color. There were also Japanese melodies heard around, the ground was covered with hundreds of picnic blankets with families and couples dining on. I captured this moment in my head and my camera- this is how I wanted my Japanese experience to end, and not with a broken heart.

When I was waiting for a taxi to take me home, Ichiro’s name appeared on my phone: “This is Ichiro’s sister, I noticed you tried to reach him and I figured you were someone important since your name is shown as “Kawaii- My Cutie” on his phone- I got to turn on his phone just now. Ichiro was involved in a car accident on his way back from the airport last week. He was found dead”. 

Anything is Possible

Любовь зла, полюбишь и козла

(Russian idiom which means: Anything is possible when it comes to love, you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with)

The first thing that attracted me when I saw David’s face on my phone’s screen was his pale skin. I know, it sounds the complete opposite of attractive, but I have always found myself attracted to white Ashkenazi boys. David and I met online, and people always ask me how a dark-skinned Moroccan woman like me could look for someone who comes from such a different culture with different values. As a matter of fact, I have dated both types of men - Ashkenazim and Sephardim. David, and I suppose the Ashkenazim, won this battle.

Our first date took place on November 22^nd. It was wintery outside, the snowfall looked so delicate from the restaurant’s windows from which we were dining. It was the best date I could ever ask for. I started running the scenes from the beginning of that night in my mind, I could conclude it then.

“You are such a gentleman, you know?” I asked rhetorically.

David chuckled, showing his wide, beautiful smile. He barely looked me straight in the eyes and I found that to be respectful. His shyness was such a great quality and it led me to compare this type of man to all the bold Sephardim men I have dated before.

“Why do you think that?” he asked me back.

“Well, you don’t see men holding the door for their date anymore, do you? Nor paying the whole bill, or opening the car door for them…” I sipped from my drink, impatiently awaiting his reply.

“I don’t know who you dated Rachel, but all of I did so far on this date are actions that are obvious to me and are supposed to be done, this is what my mom taught me anyway.” I could listen to him for days.

David asked me so many questions in order to get to know me, and he listened curiously to whatever I said. He wanted to know it all, and I could see he was making the calculations in his head. For everything I said he did the one plus one equals who he thinks I am. I did not mind it, I thought it showed that he cares and “that is what Russians are like,” or so I was told. Our expectations were met each moment we spent together, and I was not scared of our differing values, he made me curious and passionate about our differences, especially when he helped me put my coat back on when we left the restaurant.

I stopped counting our dates because we found ourselves together almost every day. We decided to spend our Friday night together for the first time. I am observant, quite religious actually, and David is pretty secular, but we promised to try and respect each other when it comes to religion. This Friday night was incredible. I cooked my special, hot Moroccan fish before Shabbat started. David always said that he loves spicy food, but nothing really prepared him for this one.

He wiped his mouth and said: “the seasoning you used for this fish is nothing I have ever experienced in my life.”

I laughed out loud, “I did hear that Russian food barely contains any seasoning, and that’s not even talking about the spiciness!” I joked, while removing the plates from the table and carrying them to the kitchen. While putting the plates in the sink I heard David’s ringtone. He picked up and began to speak Russian. This was my first time hearing David speak it. It was not the first time I have heard Russian, but this time I actually listened. When he spoke it, the language was nothing like any other I knew nor heard before, and I could not understand anything. I tried to relate the words to other words that sounded the same but nothing of what he said sounded familiar or associative.

I washed the two plates and then I returned to the table, David had just finished the call and said, “My mom really wants to meet you.” He did not look at me while saying this but instead looked at the table, trying to stick the bread crumbs to his finger.

“Oh!” I was ecstatic, “that was your mother on the phone?” But of course this was his mother on the phone, she is the only person to whom he speaks Russian.

“I would love to meet her, David” I finally managed to say back.

“I told her we will come tomorrow, it will be her birthday too” he said back, this time raising his gaze to catch my reaction.

“Tomorrow?!” Yay!!” I showed him a wide smile and happy eyes that I couldn’t hide, I was thrilled. I was going to meet his mother!

We ended our Friday night breathing heavily in bed, I laid my head on David’s chest- resting after another great love-making. While I was trying to catch my breath, I grasped his arm firmly, not wanting to let this amazing man walk out of my life.

I woke up to the sound and touch of a kiss on my cheek. I turned around to look at David smiling at me, “good morning,” he said.

“Good morning” I smiled and put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer for round three.

We got up to get ready to meet David’s mother, Anna, and we decided to stop at the flower shop down the street. When we walked inside the store, David let me pick the flowers that I thought to be the most beautiful.

“Give me twelve of these, please” I said pointing at the purple Verbenas. “A dozen of these would make a beautiful bouquet, right?” I said quietly, looking up at David.

“Ah, please make it eleven” he said to the old lady, waving at her and she nodded, taking one out of the bouquet she was already holding.

“What? Why eleven?” I chuckled, trying to understand what the problem was.

“It’s…It’s stupid, but Russians don’t give someone an even number of flowers. You would do that only if it is meant for a funeral” He said with an embarrassed half smile, handing the money to the cashier.

While walking to Anna’s house I wondered if there were any other funny superstitions like the one with the flowers, but I guess this was part of the beauty of how different we are.

Anna’s house was in the third floor of an old, four story building. We stepped up the stairs and when we reached to the door I searched for David’s hand and pressed it. Anna opened the door with a big welcoming smile, she did not approach to hug me but instead extended her hand to shake mine. I shook her hand and passed her the flowers I was holding, wishing her a happy birthday. She grabbed the bouquet and smiled, “Aw, you really did not have to” she stared at the flowers for a moment as if she was counting them.

“Here, let me take your coat” David said from behind me, while I was looking around the house.

The house was not big, and the first thing I noticed was David’s grandmother who lived there with Anna, sitting in the living room corner, sewing something furry. Behind her there was a long wall covered with a gold vintage wallpaper with old alike, white flowers. On this wall hanged about sixty or so different decorative plates with different drawings on them. Flowers, Moscow maps painted in different ways, angels, leaves. Next to this wall there was a tall, glass-door cabinet which contained tiny, pearl colored tea glasses and a black and white photo of a beautiful young man. The house looked old with vintage furniture but very unique in its own way.

“Meow…” I heard suddenly, and looking down I saw a beautiful white hairy cat rubbing himself against my ankles.

David’s grandmother did not speak the language, so with everything she said I found myself turning to David for translation.

David laughed and said, “She said you are as beautiful as an Egyptian princess.”

I could feel my cheeks begin to redden, but I managed to say “spasiba,” as this was the only word I knew how to pronounce in Russian, and it means thank you.

While they were all laughing at my thick accent we walked to the dining table which was already perfectly set. I looked at all the food that was waiting, it looked so different from what my family makes. Even the smell was strange. I could see cabbage rolls stuffed with meat, rice, two types of soups and several kinds of salads with mayonnaise topping all over them. No tracks of oil, red seasoning or spiciness.

“Wow, thank you so much for all of this Anna” I said while taking a seat.

“We are very happy to finally meet you” Anna said back with a thick accent. It was obvious she is Russian and not only by her speech. Anna had beautiful blue eyes and a thick blonde hair tied with a red velvet hair band. She had extremely long nails painted in purple.

“Baruch ata Adonai eluheynu melech Ha-olam, She-hakol nehiya bedvaro” David’s grandmother said the partial blessing and I smiled, although I could not really hide my shock, and then we all replied with “amen”.

Anna told me that her mother is quite observant too, even though she did not remember the whole blessing for Shabbat dinner except for this part. I did not see this coming, I did not know that any observant Russians still existed. Usually they are the complete opposite of religious, but this old lady did not forget her roots. I nodded to her with a smile of appreciation for making the alleged cultural barrier vanish, if even for a moment.

“Here Rachel, have some of our famous Golumpki” Anna said as she moved the cabbage rolls closer to me. I took some and surprisingly it was not bad at all, just different.

“Thank you, everything is really good- I have never had Russian food before.”

“I am very glad you like it” Anna said back and then added “so, what do you do for a living Rachel?”

David put down his fork and moved his hand on my lap.

“Well, I will finish my English degree next year, I am willing to teach in high schools,” I smiled to her as I replied.

“How lovely, sounds like a decent plan…Maybe you should consider applying for a job in the High-Techs offices, I am sure they provide a better salary.”

I cleared my throat and nodded, “maybe.”

“David listened to me when I told him he should go study mechanical engineering over traveling and look how well he is living now. He has his own car and apartment…”

“Mom…” David interrupted her.

“What? It is important to aspire highly” Anna said back, wiping her mouth gently with a napkin.

“Oh, I certainly agree” I sipped from my drink, I was not going to tell Anna that where I come from, doing what you love is more valuable than how much money you will be making and I think that is what David liked about me the most. I was different from him, in every way. My parents never pushed me to aspire so highly because getting just what we need and not necessarily want was enough.

“Thank you again Anna, this was a pleasure” David and I were standing next to the door, ready to leave. I hugged David’s grandmother because this is how Moroccans show respect and love, and although she did not hug me back, her eyes expressed love.

David and I held hands on our way back, I felt happy and satisfied and David supported this feeling.

“Thank you, Rachel, for being so amazing and patient with them” he said as caressing my hand with his thumb.

“David, I had such a great time. It was different from the big and noisy dinners we have with my family, but I love it. Knowing we both accept and respect one another no matter how different our backgrounds are is what important to me.”

David stopped to hug me, kissing my forehead and then looking straight in my eyes, “I love you,” he said with no hesitation.

“I love you too” I said with wet eyes and a large smile.

Who knew love has such power of coinciding two distinct individuals from two different worlds to one mutual accepting reality.

David and I got married two years later, on November 22^nd, our wedding was everything we wished it to be with Ashkenazim and Sephardim dancing and laughing together. An even number of flowers decorated the beautiful garden our wedding took place in, and two different cultures became one in the name of love.

-The End-