Within the first oh I don't know 10 mins of my being back I was promptly reminded of what made Qatar what it was and why I left. Distance has a tendency to make you feel like so much has changed and that you missed out on so much. That can be a load of crap when it comes to Doha Qatar.
My dad picked me up from the airport. There has been a minor dust storm taking place. As we were driving out of there we realized the person driving ahead of us towards the exit did not pay for his ticket and therefore could not move past the barrier that is activated by scanning your ticket receipt. So in traditional Qatari fashion my dad drove over the sidewalk to the next machine so we can get out of there - aaaaaaand we're back.
I went on home to give my parents their gifts and of course drifted between insomnia and jet lag until the next morning. My cats were weirded out by my return but they remembered me quickly. Thankfully I know how to break the ice with all of them. The fact that Meloni is no longer with us though did feel awkward as she always has been the go to cat for comic relief and a true warm welcome to the house.
Jet lag is a killer. My ankles were swollen, I was bloated, and thanks to the dust storm outside and inside our house my allergies kicked in full throttle. The childish fantasy I had in my mind of being appreciated and respected completely melted away the next morning. I tried to have a small conversation with my dad - they are always awkward as we don't have the greatest of relationships.
Midway through the conversation he goes "btw Fatima" I was like oh here it comes - a compliment, or a good question in which I could answer with expertise and precision - "You should work out because you have a huge belly." I couldn't believe that came out of his mouth. I still can't. He never gave me crap over my weight before so this really felt like an invasion of privacy.
My first day back destroyed with a sentence.
Any of you who have known me in person previously to 2007 would have known that at some point I went through a phase of "mild" anorexia. I haven't really talked about this because for the longest time I didn't believe it was that at all. I thought I was just being healthy - my body begged to differ and so did my lowest weight point of 92lbs. Even the doctors at the time shrugged it off and said that I was just a tiny person - it wasn't a problem that I had 900 calorie daily diet and that I ran for 45 mins at 4 am every morning. Somedays I would eat a bagel and just drink water all day. I felt further enabled when I got more compliments for looking good.
When I look in the mirror today I find myself fighting the urge to torture myself over my body. This is the first time in years that I've felt like my legs were strong and that I have built some form of muscle mass.
I am not looking for a pity fest over my struggle with food - I feel it is necessary to be honest about who I am and was. As hurtful as it was to hear that my father thinks I'm fat despite the fact remains that a good portion of it was bloating and water retention. I'm sure he and others feel the need to judge my body's desire to be healthy as fatness. I am not fat - even if I feel that way when I look in the mirror.
Maybe it was his way of saying welcome home?
p.s. on a side note I currently do not have a pc and am using my ipad as a laptop - so if this blog seems a bit long and delayed it's because I had to muster the mental strength to type it all out on a tiny keyboard.
No comments:
Post a Comment