To the Core
When I was growing up we used to have two big apple trees in our backyard. When I was 7 or 8, my father told me that they were my age and were still “young”, so I guess, we were growing up together. There was always someone to take care of the trees — fertilizing them and shaping their crowns — so that they looked so fresh and healthy.
Every spring the big light pink blossoms, which were kissed by dozens of insatiable bees, turned our backyard into a living canvas. I loved spending my afternoons under the uneven shade of the trees, listening to music, reading or doing my homework. I also used to babysit and play games with my little sister there. When we grew up, she started to hang out under the trees together, talk about our dreams, boys or just laugh loudly at our childish jokes.
But what we were both really looking forward to were the fruits of our beloved trees which usually came with the end of our summers. By September the tree crowns were full of big and shiny green apples. Each one looked so perfect and fresh with its smooth light green skins. Some apples had pinky or reddish colors on their sides as if they were blushing. And the taste. I could almost feel the love and care my father put into raising them. They were juicy, sour and sweet at the same time, and very, very aromatic.
“Then I just started missing breakfast and eating less after. I was feeling lighter and happy with the results. Then I just missed dinner, as well.”
My grandmother used to tell me that “An apple a day, keeps the doctor away” and made sure that the small basket case on the table was always full of my favorite green fruits. She loved making a variety of sweets with the apples — apple jelly, apple pies, apple strudel, apple juice. Apples, apples, apples. They were the perfect snack after school and a great part of the breakfast in the weekends.
When I grew up and turned 18, I found out that the delicious apples were also a great part in every weight-loss diet: they make you feel full and reduce your appetite. My high school graduation was approaching, and all of my girlfriends were talking about dieting and getting skinnier, so we could look fabulous in our prom dresses. Although I have always been a tiny girl — only 5.15ft tall and never heavier than 103 pounds — I decided to become part of the weight-loss madness around me.
In fall 2014, we just had stripped the trees in our backyard and had three big baskets of the juicy and delicious green apples, so I decided that this was a great chance for me to try the notorious Apple diet. I started eating an apple before every major meal, so I could feel less hungry. I also had to stop eating my grandma’s desserts and reduce the sweets drastically. Then I just started missing breakfast and eating less after. I was feeling lighter and happy with the results. Then I just missed dinner, as well.
No one really noticed my dieting habits since my family was at a hard point back then. My mother was going through chemotherapy and she and my father were constantly traveling to different cities and hospitals. When they were at home, we rarely had lunch or dinner together, as she would feel sick and tired. I was constantly anxious as I had to help more with the housekeeping, take care of my sister and keep up with my exams at school. Sometimes I lost my appetite for a whole day.
I wasn’t feeling hungry anymore. Or at least I wanted to think so. I only had 3 or 4 apples per day and lots of coffee to keep me going. Apples, apples, and only apples. The number on the scale was getting smaller and so was I. The Apple diet was “helping” — I weighed less than 90 pounds. But I was still feeling heavy and anxious. Unsurprisingly, the first person who noticed that I got much thinner, was my grandmother. She looked genuinely worried about me and would always told me to eat more and cook more of her delicious apple pies. She insisted that I have my meals in front of her and wanted to see “an empty plate” at the end.
“Sometimes I would lose my appetite for a whole day.”
I didn’t want to bother her, and I started coming up with little tricks to fake eating. I threw away my meals or even hid food in my pockets, so I could prove that I ate. I would grab an apple and eat it in front of my grandmother, so she wouldn’t be worried. And then I would feel sick, guilty, heavy. Disgusting. Apples, apples, apples. Oh, how much I started hating those huge green apples, full of sugar and calories.
I stopped hanging out with my little sister under the trees. I stopped going out with my friends, so I could avoid eating out with them. All I would do was stay in my room, trying to study or exercise. But at one point I was feeling too exhausted — it was hard to even wake up and go to school where I would be always cold and distracted. So exhausted that one day I just collapsed.
That same year, one of the apple trees in our backyard died — I guess it had some kind of disease or simply because it lacked the extra care. In this same year, I recovered. It was a hard and slow process, but I did it. My mother was feeling much better, as well. Now I am 22. I can help her with preparing the dinner again, I hang out with my little sister and my friends, I eat my grandmother’s desserts. I am not going to lie — I am still compulsively checking if my arm’s width and don’t overeat. But I am still learning. Four years later, I am learning how to eat those juicy and delicious green apples again. And I’m actually enjoying it.
