my last article for class.

I never thought I could compare a porn magazine to a weighing scale. I knew what it was going to say and yet I couldn’t help but to take a little peek. The curiosity from Playboy’s best sex tips and seeing how far that red pin passed 100 suddenly had the same pleasure.

I was 117 pounds when I started Ryerson University. I didn’t have temptations to eat food or watch my weight, since I was a commuter and friendless, I would go home after class.

A few weeks in, I made some close friends, ones who never said no to eating. As the money in my pocket and their pockets began to disappeared, the numbers on the scale increased.

My friend told me it was called the “freshman 15,” a first year student at university who gains about 15 pounds.

A boundary that was in my disadvantage was the university’s location in downtown Toronto. As I got off Dundas subway there was a Pizza Pizza, before I crossed the street there was a hot-dog stand, when I got to a building another hot-dog stand or Tim Hortons would be there. It felt like these places watched me, all the time.

Then there was Salad King, the “have to be place” at Ryerson, a friend once said. I would find myself there more than two times a week trying to decide from their almost 10-dish vegetarian menu. I would always order the spicy tofu with extra cashews at the end, even after 10 minutes of deciding. I figured out then that something I ate had to be well thought-out because the taste of that spicy tofu would be in my head all day.

As this new pattern of buying and no appreciating food was attached on me at school it continued to stick to at home. Being a junk-food addict, I would always have something hidden on my computer desk’s narrow shelf behind a collection of Bollywood CDs. I would usually hide Hershey’s dark chocolate because I had a 14-year-old brother who would eat it if he saw it. The black desk that was once used for homework was now covered with cranberry granola bars, four or five cups of orange juice, almonds and even a plate from whatever I had for dinner that night.

The desk was almost like a storage space to me, as I now found every spot useful to store food. When I had essays due, I would keep plates of pasta or whole peanut butter and bread with on the sliding section of the desk that was once used for a keyboard. I thought my reason for eating would be stress from school, but at the same time eating food was more experimental. The smell of peanut butter on the bread still didn’t have the same taste of texture as a banana slices with strawberry jam.

When exams started and I was 125 pounds, I would have group study sessions in Kerr Hall’s lounge at Ryerson. The black leather chairs would be cluttered with bags of chips, orange-juice containers, chocolate bars, trail mix, water bottles, coffee and anything else that could keep us awake. We wouldn’t sleep or think about going home, even when it was close to midnight. We would eat and eat until we lost the taste for food.

Eating wasn’t even about stress anymore; it would now give me comfort. If I had a rough day in class, if I did well on a test, or even if the weather was nice outside, I would go eat something. This comfort made eating my new hobby. I would love trying out new restaurants and dishes like the Green Mango’s lemongrass tofu, Pickle Barrel’s roasted vegetable, pesto and smoked gouda wrap, Spring Roll’s fried Shanghai noodles and even trying olives and hot peppers on my tofu hot-dog from a near by stand. More food however equalled to higher triple digits on the scale.

When the New Year rolled around and I was 130 pounds, it seems like everyone was in the mood to loose weight. Fitness centres in the area started to offer trials and discounts, newspapers had articles on how to cut calories and the Women’s Network played re-run episodes of weight-loss shows all week. It felt like a sign. I had to put in the effort; I had to beat the freshman 15.

I joined Ryerson’s gym with a friend for $35. At first it was an adrenaline rush, I would run two kilometres, do 50 sit-ups and even climb 10 floors on the stair master. No matter what, I was still hungry at the end.

I remember working out with a friend once and deciding to eat a salad because I thought it would be healthier. Two hours after the salad, my friend and I were so eager to buy popcorn from Kernels, hypnotized by the smell of fresh popcorn and melted butter; we gave in.

Then it hit me; it never really was about losing weight or beating the freshman 15. I loved eating food. The taste of Thai food after class or even dipping my celery in peanut butter or melted chocolate seemed much more important. It was all about presentation, how it looked and how food felt when I took a bite. I guess I will be a freshman forever.