As I approach my late twenties, I find myself gaining new awareness about my body. Since the time I started reflecting about myself, my body had been pushed into the background, a mere mass in which my ideas resided. Now, almost as if performing its revenge, my body has begun pushing through the narrow film which separated itself from the foreground. These days I notice when my gut feels distended, back feels stiff, neck feels sweaty, and the fan beats wind into my skin.
I feel bloated when I eat potatoes. I get bad acid reflux from eating spicy food. I cannot drink cold liquids and not wake up with an irritated throat the next day. Sometimes the tee shirt sticks to my skin and I get the crawlies. When my feet sweats and the dust from the city mix with it to form a sticky layer that glues my feet to my sandals, I blame myself for not having the patience to moisturize my feet and put on socks and shoes. I know not to have two coffees in a day and not to skip any of the eight hours of sleep. I wash my bed sheets and blankets every now and then. I carry a tube of moisturizer when I am out to salve my dry palms. I do not miss breakfast.