#whattheche

Fact is, I don’t eat breakfast. It’s not that I don’t like breakfast, it’s because I’ve been traumatized as a kid.

You see, my mom forced me to eat breakfast when I was around 7-8 years old. It consisted of warm (it was piping hot) milk that had an egg in there.. (seriously.. it was really odd for a westernized asian kid to adopt).

+

Like any obedient asian child, I gulped it down while squeezing my nose as to think it would help reduce the pain and suffering my taste buds had to go through (alright, I will admit, it kinda helps a tad).

After that, I grabbed my knapsack (who uses this word these days..) and headed off to good ol’ 12th Avenue Elementary.

I went through my regular school routine, “paid attention” to the teacher, nodded my head at every english sentence thrown at me, and went about my day. About 30 minutes before lunch, it happened...

I wasn’t feeling so good. My stomach was angrily rumbling. It felt like a Manny Pacquiao vs Floyd Mayweather rematch in there with an audience large enough to break the world record for screams, yells, and cursing. A split second later, I found myself running to the closest garbage bin and it all came streaming out.

Yep. I threw up right before lunch time... my favourite time of the day!! It was a sad, sad day.

The teacher saw that I had tossed my head into the garbage bin and immediately came to my rescue. She took care of me and made sure all the awful egg-infused milk was out of my system. Next thing I knew, I was in the principle’s car heading home.

Ever since that day.. breakfast was crossed off my list of daily meals. Yes, it’s unhealthy, but hey.. If you experienced what I experienced, you would understand.

I think I can count with a single hand how many times I eat breakfast in a month. #truestory