Yes, it is about Food!

The last few weeks had been an intense probing into my diet, routine, exercise, my sleep pattern, bicycling, yoga. But first and foremost, about cutting down calories. I've been gaining weight, and the first thing I wanted to do was to get back to normal range, which would be 105 pounds.

That my current weight in 130 lb and BMI 24 has done little to elevate my mood about my situation. No one needs to point me out that I needed to do it in earnest. That it should be a war effort, that I really needed to motivate myself to eat less, and that if I wanted to avoid a pre-diabetic state, I must buck up to work hard.

And so here I am, maintaining a food diary diligently. For every piece of cake, breakfast cereal, every morsel of rice, every glass of juice, I have entered the calorie values against them on a page of my notebook.

I can hardly see any difference in me since I started this activity, and I am about to lose enthusiasm. Eating less has not lowered my weight fast and drastically, I way I want. It has been extremely slow. It has taken me weeks to lower 3 lbs. Is that good enough? When would I get to 105 lb? That goal seems very far away.

Chance

Many years ago, I tried reading Joseph Conrad's Chance. The first few pages were like a scene from a movie. There was a lot of activity, which left me breathless. The conversational style also discouraged me. I found it too complex and narrative. So I closed the book, and went on to read other simpler ones. I tried the same way a few more times, then gave up.

Then, a few years ago, sometime around late 2003, praises about Chance in various write-ups goaded me to try one more time. I picked it up again, as it was gathering dust, and to not read it would be a waste of good material. My illness (I don't remember what it was) gave me the time to stick to the pages and finally I was able to finish it. This time, I was able to understand every word of it. The false starts had ended, and I communed with the thoughts of Joseph Conrad.

At times, the dense prose and the endless deliberations were too heavy on my sick head. But the outcome of not giving up easily was that I read an excellent and evocative story by a master storyteller.

The dark and the sombre constantly hung in the air, with the sad life of Flora getting on to me on every page. At times it was frustrating, as I wanted to help her in some way. Everyone seemed to be ill-treating her. Also, people seemed to misunderstand one another, and no single situation could be comprehended in a simple way. Everything was complex and to make each other understand about life easily was difficult.