The Hungry Man

What can be said about the hungry man who refuses food placed in front of him?

We cannot know. He may do so out of protest: a deliberate rejection to symbolize a noble cause. He may do so out of contrariness to the one who gives him food. Yes, it may be food, but the origin matters. And the intention under which it was given matters even more. The hungry man does not appreciate charity, nor patronization. More pressingly, however, is the nature of eating the food. Hunger comes and goes. Food serves its purposes, yes, but sometimes the hungry man hates the fact that he becomes hungry so quickly. He refuses to eat to spite himself. If it is not self-torture, as much as it may seem, it may be a strong form of resilience. To subject oneself to the elements only to prepare oneself for said elements. He goes into the rain so that wetness won’t bother him. He bakes in the sun to strengthen his heat tolerance. And so, it may be the same for food. But it may not be.

The hungry man’s palette is not unique. Any food will do. So long as it sates the hunger and gives way to that long sought-after feeling of contentment. So long as there are no ill side-effects. Fried, oiled, baked, sauted, beaten, or raw, each strikes the tongue in its own way. The fact that his palette is not unique strengthens his judgement towards others for not living up to his level of restraint. He wonders why others choose to succumb to their appetites without a fight. He values effort and resistance in the form of a brilliant, passionate struggle.

What is sickening to consider is that he may enjoy the pit in his stomach. Hunger may gnaw away at him from the inside, but it is the staunch refusal to succumb to it that motivates his abstention. Do not mistake him. It hurts. Every single person is familiar with the feeling of hunger, that narrow, growing, non-abating, and persistent pull towards sustenance. It is as if it has a mind of its own. If so, the hungry man plays a battle of wits with it. He often wins because it is quite easy to outwit the mind of hunger. Hunger only wants one thing: food. And so if you tell it that you will feed it, it will do your bidding. And it is gullible, so that when you lie, it will continue to trust you.

The hungry man delights in restraint. It bolsters his sense of accomplishment. At the end of the day he can reflect and be proud of all he refused to do. All the delicacies, all the savory sweets, all the tid bits and snicker snacks… they are all trophies to be hung on the wall— admired, but never eaten. He may run his fingers over said trophies slowly, admiring their shine, but that is all. Imagination is enough. The minimum to suffice is his delight.

The hungry man looks at the clock to see how much longer he has before he can stop starving himself. The clock is his god. It dictates when he eats and when he sleeps. And when the time strikes, he is ravenous. He chomps and smacks his lips. Scraps of food go flying. Juices from fruit cover the table. Wrappers and plastic wrap are strewn on the floor. Stew is dripping from a spoon. His clothes are messy and stained. They will need a good washing. And he does wash them, if only to do it over and over again.

The hungry man has gorged himself before. And so, it is not the case that he does not know what he is missing. He has filled his belly with the most lavish of foods. Once, he feasted on a whole roasted chicken, a dozen baked potatoes, a liter of soda, two 16-inch pizzas, a large milkshake, and an entire chocolate cake. His mouth was covered in frosting and his fingers were slathered and messy with grease. He let out a large belch and felt the expected, warm contentment of a stuffed belly. He patted his belly with satisfaction.  But soon the result of his debauchery began to show. He began to burp and fart uncontrollably, he had intense stomach cramps, his face began to swell, his head spun, and eventually he vomited. After vomiting the hungry man began to wonder which was worse: indulgence or abstention. He hastily concluded the latter.