Like many, food had never solely been a form of sustenance for me. No, no… It was an integral part of my cultural identity. A source of solace at the end of a long day.
An excuse to meet up with friends when I knew I should be studying for a midterm. I refer to this in the past tense because my relationship with food has changed since chronic illness entered my life.
For the past three years, I’ve lived with a mysterious gastrointestinal motility disorder. And last year, I was diagnosed with an esophageal stricture.
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