Hungry For Love- Dairy Of A Beauty Queen With Eating Disorders
There is a certain sound that a Capital city makes, if you combine the skyscrapers lined along the avenues, the echoes across the concrete buildings with the endless stream of people you will get the exact sound I was hearing while I was walking in the streets of TOKYO. The nights here were filled with blazing neon lights twinkling from the many high sites, telling each their own story, Tokyo at night sparkled like a tempestuous Diamond crown.
I was getting on and off the intricate paths of the busy Subway on my way to Cinque-Deux -Un my modelling agency, this commute is exhausting not physically I note to myself but emotionally. Nothing here in Tokyo seems recognizable or intimate. I stepped into the Eastern center of Fashion world thinking that If I could make it in Tokyo, I could make it anywhere in the world, not paying attention to me, I am not sure I considered then my emotional needs.
I am holding my breath and my stomach anxiously while Konami does her job.
“You have gained an inch on your waist and 2 inches on your hips, that is no good! ” Konami says without raising her eyes. She is holding my Modelling chart sizing my latest measurements while I am racing possible scenarios in my head:
“Was it the late munches or the latest purging to blame for?
It is a death sentence that sends me straight to one place. I walk out of the agency’s door with a piece of paper on which Konami wrote my next audition address- but I turn to the opposite direction heading towards Mitsukoshi Ginza, where this tiny bakery releases particles of sweet vanilla hanging like Lollypops in the heavy air.
The delicate Wagashi cakes are lined up in a green, red and white colors creating a beautiful display of an imaginary rainbow- I am unable to pick up the colors because I want them all, after a short debate I restrain myself into ordering only one smaller box.
“I’ll have three Yakin and three green tea cakes” I say in a normal voice, not that, of a “Food addict”, but before the box is sealed, I reach to the miniature green cake, and within seconds chewi it into nothing. I need the next one and the one after to feel its taste.
The sweet taste pushes away the remaining of the inner dicipline still left in me, giving birth to a short lived pleasure -I feel better at first but then something dark and heavy invades my world.
This is how defeat feels, more like a greasy substance that suffocates your sweet hopes. Part of me wants to tear my body apart so that my soul can flee, I don’t really know where to, nevertheless I must get a break from my physical body. I look for the nearest restaurant and head directly to the bathroom. I go through my ritual of brushing my teeth, rinsing my mouth and whipping my face right after it is all over, then I walk away careful not to raise eyebrows on my way out.
My days in Tokyo are filled with the same routine day after day. My eyes by now swollen and red, blood-shot eyes from bending over and purging, my skin is gloomy and my throat is itching.
Praying is my last resort, so I pray silently for help to find me, not having the courage to ask for it loud.
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