It was a Thursday night, and I had a breakdown.
It was reaching seven o'clock in the evening when I had finished getting ready to go out. Two hours prior to I had finished a presentation for a client and checked all the boxes in my to-do list. Three hours before that I ate a very late lunch although it wasn't really a meal since the small bowl was filled with instant pancit canton. And four hours before gulfing down that small meal was when I had just woken up due to staying up late the previous night.
Time seems so short when you break it down to the key points of the day.
I glanced at my watch and I knew that I could not eat dinner anymore and thought "Well, I'll just drive thru somewhere and eat on the road." And just like comic timing I saw the dinner table ready. The mouth watering aroma of chicken with potatoes and carrots and seeing the steam of the rice coming out was just... overwhelming. I literally stood there, in front of our dining table, just staring at the food. And I sighed. I can sacrifice this. It's just dinner.
But I did not realize that it had affected me so much. As I started my car's engine, all I could think about was the food. As I drove off and got my exit ticket from the toll plaza, all I could think about was the food. And as I drove up to Inigo's house, it was all I could think about.
In between the time that I was driving from point A to point B, sarcastic comic timing was surrounding me. So many idiots on the road. So many slow pokes. So many oh-shit-I-almost-got-hit. I was feeling woozy and dizzy and hungry. And when I got to point B, I was feeling very exhausted and frustrated.
Inigo warmed up a hot pocket pizza for me and I brought it in the car while he drove. Normally, when one is starving, one would gulf down the food, right?
I didn't.
I took a bite off that hot pocket and chewed it very slowly. Tears welled up in my eyes. My throat began to choke. I stared at the window hoping he wouldn't see. It was like I hadn't eaten in years. Every bite was just so delicious. So wonderful. I savored every bite, breathing in the scent of spices and cheese and tomato paste. The warm toasty bread was heavenly. Crunchy. Chewy. And with every bite a tear fell down my eye.
At some point I couldn't take it anymore. I was so confused. I looked at Inigo and with the back of one hand on my eye and a bite of hot pocket in my mouth I suddenly said, "I don't know what's happening to meeeeeeee." And cried.
Can you imagine the surprise on his face?!
"O! What happened? Are you okay? What's going on?!?!" (Look at the road honey. Look at the road.)
I couldn't speak. I was choking on my food. I had to relax my muscles and swallow it down before speaking. That pause gave me time to clear my head too.
I really did not know what was happening to me. I had no clue at the time as to why I had behaved like that. I could not understand my own self.
But I told him about what other things I did that day. Told him about the idiots on the road. The lack of nourishment. The intense hunger I was feeling. And he kept asking if that was all, and if there was anything else that might have been bothering me the past few days.
I thought and thought and thought. None.
It was funny, really. I laughed and cried at the same time while saying to Inigo, "Why am I like this?!" I felt like how a pregnant woman would possibly feel during chemical imbalances. And the end of this story is that I did feel much better after finishing that hot pocket pizza. I felt lighter. And in a better mood.
It was a "moment" I will never forget.
