Unique Muslimah

I think it’s about time I confess. Not everything in my life is going well. And there is an issue that is slowly causing me to cry in quiet desperation because I know nothing I do will fix it. It’s just too late.

Last year around the same time I remember writing a post with a determination to sort it out. And with your encouragement and support I was able to do so. Maybe today I write this with a silent hope of having the same encouragement so I can resolve this issue that is slowly driving me to depression.

It’s my weight. I had successfully lost so much weight last summer and was on a successful healthy eating program by Judy Cole called “Heal your Weight, The Body Talks”. It changed my life and the way I looked at food. I loved being this new me who had control over food, not vice versa.

But slowly I started accepting people’s invitations to “just a slice of cake”, or “just a can of soda”, or “just a burger I’ve made especially for you”, things that were outside my diet plan. I’d be thinking, “Yes, just this once”, until one thing led to another, until almost a year later I’ve reached a weight I’ve never reached before. I’ve exploded into this fat blob and I just have no idea where to start to rectify the situation.

I’ve never been 196 Ibs before (89 kilograms, 14 stone). Today I have managed to expand to the realm of fatness. If this was a competition, I’d surely win for putting the most weight on in a period of 9 months, and I have no pregnancy excuse. It has just happened with or without my own will.

My relationship with food has started to become a disastrous one. I look at the calendar and know summer is approaching which should give me the initiative to start losing weight, but I just don’t have it in me. I’ve been given presents in the form of health books from family members, but they just lie there on the shelf collecting dust. My clothes do not fit into me anymore. And still, everyday I’ll say “I’ll start today” and then go for junk food.

I need to look after my body for the sake of God. It’s a gift from Him and I’m doing a good job destroying it. I also want to look like a presentable Muslimah in my work place and everywhere else I go, a sophisticated Muslimah, but that’s not just working these days. I thought my days of acne were over, but due to the weight gain, they’ve slowly crept up on me, leaving scars.

It seems I’m reliving my teenage years all over again. And I don’t have it in me to try again, to repeat the procedure I’ve attempted so many times that I’ve lost count. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to have the will, the determination to get things right.

I strive for perfection everywhere else in my life, but when it comes to my personal health, I just can’t climb up this Mount Everest. And I’m afraid I’ll become just as big as old Everest if I don’t start doing something about it.

So I’m sitting comfortably while preparing to sink my teeth into Ferraro Rocher, a chocolate-feast fresh from Egypt. And while I slowly and seductively unravel the golden wrapper, just like those enticing television commercials, I choose how to eat this little, pleasurable treat.

One golden rule I have is to never gobble a Ferror Rocher, no, never. If it were a chocolate-covered world then that would be a top chocolate crime and you’d be sent to choco-jail. I’ve witnessed in horror how some individuals pop the treasure into their mouths, munch on it systematically then gulp it down without a thought- and it’s over in 5 seconds straight. Since my chocolate cravings do not come by often and when they do I want to enjoy the moment, I have developed a system, which works well and the experience is pleasurably over in a desired time frame of two minutes.

But this afternoon my thoughts went elsewhere while I slowly ate the outer part of the chocolate, letting it melt on my tongue so I could let my taste buds work. I looked at the round gift in my hand and in what you could call a moment of enlightenment realised that this little piece of chocolate was written just for me. (Seriously, I have not gone choco-mad).

My thoughts raced as I turned the piece in my hand, inspecting every angle, casting a giant snake-like shadow eating the sun on the sofa.  Back when the chocolate was just cocoa somewhere in the world, that little cocoa bean had my name on it. When it was shipped over and given to a factory, it still had my name on it. No one was going to obstruct the destiny of this little chocolate delight: my mouth. While it was shaped, the nut placed inside had my name on it, and so forth, untill it reached my home where I picked it out from the rest of the golden sun-balls which are probably written for members of the family, unless I get to them first that is.

By the time I had reflected over this little chocolate’s epic journey, it had disappeared from my hand and it was all over really- one of the best chocolate experiences to data where I ate and simultaneously marvelled at a gift from God that had my name on it.

I must admit I was tempted to go for another bite and revisit the journey in more detail, but perhaps tomorrow. I hate to over-indulge and hey, if my name is written on one of them (or even all of them), then it’s surely destined to be mine.

It’s just a matter of mouth-watering time.