During the prime years of her youth, while other uni students were challenging themselves to ever greater feats in the library and at the unibar, Zila devoted herself to two main goals: completing assignments and mind-blanking with food.
During the day she would worship the god of Study at the white chipboard desk in her shoebox room at the womens college, composing songs to remember the ingredients of the minerals, and the orders of the animals and plants. The names would toll like bells in her fitful sleep before exams, swarming with the structures of simple molecules and the tails of sentences from half-written reports.
In the afternoons when she didn’t have class, she would make her pilgrimage to the mall. She always made sure to arrive in time to liberate half-priced foods so they wouldn’t be condemned to the unholy waste system that contributed to global methane production.
Later, after she moved out with friends and her timetable changed and she got a boyfriend, there were times when she would neglect her sacred duties. She flirted dangerously with a normal lifestyle of social events, live music and premarital sex, but always the call to her twin offices of nerd and food addict proved stronger.
Life was peacefully domestic during the daytimes. Her flatmate would work cheerfully on her cross-stitch, The Lord of the Rings providing a pleasant background mumble of battle screams and orchestral music. Zila would be studying dutifully in her room or passing through occasionally to admire the cross-stitch or do her laundry. Once her flatmate had left for work, Zila would successfully evade the cravings for some minutes before the pressure would get too intense and she’d have to visit the corner shop for some relief. Or she would hold off until the lunch specials started and then get fucked up on Thai food and muesli bars. Weekends when her flatmate went to her boyfriend’s place were a punch-up between assignment anxiety and post-binge self-loathing.
On Wednesday nights when she could manage to pack away her shame she’d go to a friend’s house, where a small but diverse group would enjoy delicious food and intriguing conversations about religion.
For a time, Zila’s boyfriend conveniently lived around the corner. Once he called her while she was in mid food ritual. As was her custom, she forwent all distractions until the process was complete. Hours later when she called him back it turned out he’d locked himself out of his apartment and had needed her spare key. Oh well. Devotion always came at a price.
Metanoia 