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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Wednesday, February 18, 2009

entry arrow8:00 PM | Never Again

In Ateneo the other week, a bunch of students stopped to talk to me inside the university's famed art gallery. They asked to take pictures with me. "Sir," one of them said, "we read your blog!"

"Oh God," I said. "You must know too much about me already."

"Yes! We know about your love life!"

Oh dear God.

Facebook status messages aside, this blog has become quite confessional for me -- and I seem powerless to stop it from being so. James, a good friend of mine, told me it's perfectly okay: "We are merely trying to make sure we record the fact that we exist." Existentialism for the Internet Age? Perhaps. Heck, my life's already an open book. So let me blog about this particular ... indulgence. Let's talk about weight. I am what Oprah would call an emotional eater. Or I used to be. (The "used to be" is the good news.) I ate when I was depressed, so much so that recent years saw me balloon from 145 pounds to something close to 190 pounds at my heaviest. I was the most unhealthy balloon there was, walking on two legs. But food was my ultimate lover: it tasted great, it gave instant satisfaction, and it was there in both good times and bad. Food was also the great democratizer for me -- in a fellowship with people you barely know or had nothing to talk about, the only "communication" device that is guaranteed to satisfy all would be a banquet. Last December, I saw shots of me and Jean Claire that our old college buddy Clee took of us in Hayahay. (This was the night that changed everything in my life...) Among the photos Clee took was this...

... evidence of how obese I was becoming. Look at that neck. That trunk. That elephantine leg. Even that black shirt couldn't hide anymore the size of my misery. That December night, I weighed perhaps 174 pounds. A virtual whale. I had to shave at least 30 pounds off that. Or else call myself the ultimate loser. Two months later, I'm halfway through my goal.

That's 14 pounds off, baby. And here's to losing more for the coming summer.

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[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich