The year I hit my peak as a competitive eater—pure, unadulterated hunger—I could put away ten burgers in one sitting. For my sixteenth birthday, my parents asked me what I wanted for a gift. I told them I wanted to go to an all-you-can-eat luxury buffet. It had been so long since I'd felt full. Seeing me drooling with anticipation, my dad instantly lost his temper. "Leo, why do you always have to act like your mother and I mistreat you?!" "Like at dinner tonight. Your brother just took the last two pieces of braised pork, and you looked like it killed you." "You'd already eaten two bowls of rice! There has to be a limit to how much you compete with your brother for attention, okay?!" For the millionth time, I explained to them: "I really just wasn't full yet." My dad slapped my face hard with his chopsticks. "Lying again?!" "What kid eats two massive bowls of rice and still isn't full?" "You've gone crazy competing for attention, haven't you? You don't even care about your own body." Getting hit with chopsticks hurts. Tears sprang to my eyes immediately. As I covered my face and lowered my head, I saw my younger brother spitting the intact pieces of braised pork into the trash can. ... Who exactly was competing for attention here? My brother was clearly full. But seeing me still eating, he deliberately dumped the last two pieces of meat into his own bowl. And my dad even praised him, saying a healthy appetite is a blessing. Dad, why is it that when I can eat a lot, it's just me faking it? Maybe it's because I was a "left-behind" kid, growing up away from them. Not as close to him as my brother is. Fortunately, the next day was my uncle's birthday. He hosted a buffet banquet at a hotel, and I could finally have a full meal. I had been eating for a while when my dad, who had worked overtime, finally arrived late. Seeing the plate piled high with food in my hand, my dad's expression instantly changed. "Leo, why are you eating so much again!?" My brother smiled and took my dad's arm: "Brother has such a good appetite. He'd already finished two plates before you got here." "Wow, Leo, you can really pack it away." A cousin I wasn't very close to genuinely marveled. He was extremely skinny, had a poor appetite, and envied me. I forced a smile at him and said it was alright. My dad's face grew even darker. "Leo, do you think this is something to be proud of?" "At a relative's birthday party, you're eating for free, and you have the nerve to eat this much?" "Look at how nice your brother is dressed, and then look at the tacky clothes you're wearing." I bit my lip, catching sight of my brother's sleek superhero jacket out of the corner of my eye. I looked down at my own faded, washed-out denim overalls. My dad crossed his arms, rolled his eyes, and continued: "Envious, huh?" "If you keep eating like this, you'll only be able to fit into potato sacks. What girl would ever look at you?" My brother covered his mouth and laughed: "Dad, you don't need to worry about that." "There are plenty of girls who like ugly guys, and some who like pigs. Someone will eventually take brother in." Seeing my eyes redden, my dad scolded me impatiently: "Your brother and I are just reminding you to have some self-discipline. What are you crying for!" "I work at the print shop at your high school. A lot of people know we're father and son. You eat like a pig, where am I supposed to put my face?" Ever since I started high school, my appetite had been growing. And my dad was constantly unhappy about it. He stubbornly believed this was a trick my grandpa taught me to vie for attention, refusing to believe I just naturally had a big appetite. 2 My brother smiled and coaxed, "Dad, don't be mad. Brother's head is probably entirely filled with food; it's normal he can't listen to good advice." "Let's just ignore him." The strange looks from several relatives nearby made me feel like I was sitting on pins and needles. Embarrassed, I turned my back, wanting to escape the banquet hall. "What's wrong?" My uncle, noticing something was off from afar, walked over. It hit me hard—today was my uncle's birthday party. He had always been kind to me and sent me plenty of snacks. I couldn't let my argument with my dad ruin everyone's mood. I secretly wiped away the tears at the corners of my eyes and told my uncle it was nothing. Seeing more and more relatives gathering around, my dad forced his expression to soften. "It's nothing, I was just lecturing Leo a bit." He proactively stood next to me, picked up a single lettuce leaf with the tongs, and dropped it onto my plate. "I really don't know what to do with you. If you want to eat, then eat more. Just don't say I'm playing favorites again." Numbly, I forked the lettuce and shoved it into my mouth. When I looked up, my eyes met my brother's squarely. He gave me a contemptuous smirk, and my heart gave a sharp jolt. The first night I was brought back to live with my parents a year ago, that was exactly how he smiled at me. I knew he hated me, hated that my coming home took away some of Mom and Dad's attention. So he always, overtly or covertly, led my dad to believe I was competing with him for favor. But I... I am clearly their son too. New Year's was approaching, and the food street outside the school was bustling with activities. A fried chicken joint launched a "Competitive Eater Challenge." Finish a set massive bucket of fried chicken within thirty minutes, and not only is the meal free, but you also get a fifty-dollar voucher. After school, I went to take the challenge alone. But just as I was about to step into the fried chicken shop, I was stopped in my tracks by my dad, who had just driven out from the school. "I was wondering why I didn't see you after school. Sneaking off to participate in some eating challenge again?" His face held undisguised disgust. "You are not allowed to go. It's a disgrace." At the birthday banquet yesterday, I didn't eat much before fleeing in panic. Today, my dad was stopping me again. I was too hungry and lacked the energy to argue with him. I turned around and stepped into the shop. I was the only one taking the competitive eater challenge, and all the customers cast curious glances my way. Especially when the owner brought out that massive bucket of fried chicken, gasps of amazement echoed around. My dad, face livid, tried to drag me away by force. "If you want fried chicken, I'll make it for you at home. With so many people watching, are we monkeys in a zoo?" "Or do you just really enjoy this kind of grandstanding?!" His words pierced straight into the scar on my heart. When I was little, a kindergarten teacher scolded me for eating non-stop, calling it grandstanding. When my dad found out, he laid into the teacher and told me to eat as much as I wanted. But why, after being separated from him for ten years, did that former protection turn into a weapon, thrown back at me like a boomerang? "Just leave." I pulled away the hand he used to grab me and asked the owner to bring the timer. Seeing he couldn't persuade me, my dad glared at me fiercely, turned around, and walked out of the shop. As he left, I heard him mutter a curse under his breath. I lowered my head and ate the fried chicken, a single tear falling onto the plate. The owner called out to me in surprise: "What's wrong, kid?" I looked up and smiled: "It's nothing, your mustard sauce is just too strong." 3 After successfully completing the challenge, I returned home all alone. Dad, Mom, and my brother were eating, talking, and laughing. Mom tried to grab a bowl to serve me some rice, but Dad shouted loudly: "Don't serve him! He was out there playing the monkey for people to stare at, he's full by now. He wouldn't even remember to come home for dinner." Mom hesitated for a moment, then put the bowl down. The picture of a happy family of three having dinner stung my eyes, making them burn again. My dad and I entered an unspoken cold war. My food allowance, which was already strictly controlled and repeatedly slashed, was cut even further. A boy with a normal appetite could barely get full on my allowance. But I couldn't. I was hungry every day, depressed every day. I didn't have the energy to argue with my dad anymore. "Leo, my stomach suddenly feels awful. I really can't eat this spicy chicken I brought. You can have it." My deskmate, a total angel, handed his lunchbox to me. He had only eaten one piece of chicken; the full box of food looked practically untouched. "Thank you so much!" After my deskmate left, I pulled out my freshly washed eating utensils. An exaggerated gasp suddenly came from the classroom door. "Dad, it looks like brother is eating someone's leftovers!" Immediately, I heard my dad's stern reprimand. "Leo! What are you doing!" My dad's roar made me shudder instinctively. I tried hard to suppress the urge to run away; I just wanted to eat a full meal. But the fragrant, double-layered lunchbox in front of me was suddenly snatched away. My dad glared at me furiously: "Do you have any self-respect?!" "You're eagerly eating your classmate's leftovers? If word gets out, people will think I'm abusing you!" "Would it kill you to eat a little less!?" My brother, standing behind him with his arms crossed, looked down at me with the same condescending expression as my dad. I closed my eyes. Trying to keep my voice from shaking too much. "Give the lunchbox back to me." "Dad, I just want to be a little more full." He sneered: "Full?" "Your brother can't even finish one bowl a meal, and I just saw you eat two bowls in the cafeteria! Can you show some restraint!?" "That day you came back from that fried chicken challenge, just looking at you made me feel embarrassed." "A body stuffed with greasy fried food, what's the difference between that and a pig ready for slaughter!" My ears started ringing. I wanted to retort, wanted to fight with him. But when I get extremely angry, my condition of crying uncontrollably makes me lose completely. I couldn't speak, so I could only silently try to snatch the lunchbox back. My dad gave a cold laugh, popped open the lid of the lunchbox, and handed it to my brother standing next to him. "Go, take it and dump it." I anxiously tried to rush over, but my dad grabbed my arm. His grip was strong, pinching me so hard it hurt. "Watch me cure you of this bad habit today." My brother smiled, ran to the trash can, and lifted his hand. The entire box of food instantly fell into the filth. "Still want to eat, brother? Come dig it out of the trash." 4 Returning home that evening, the smell of food wafted from the kitchen; Dad was making my brother's favorite sweet and sour ribs. Actually, cold sweat had soaked my back ever since I started walking up the stairs. I knew my blood sugar was crashing. I leaned against the wall and shuffled to the kitchen door, my voice floating from weakness: "Dad, I don't feel well. Could you give me one piece of rib first? Or brother's cookies, snacks, anything..." Dad didn't even turn his head. He placed the freshly cooked ribs on the highest shelf where I couldn't reach, his tone filled with total disbelief: "Not feeling well? You ate two massive bowls in the school cafeteria at noon, what time is it now? Leo, did you smell the meat and get greedy again?" "I didn't." Dark spots began to appear in my vision. I tried hard to grip the doorframe. "Dad, I'm really dizzy, my heart is racing." "Wait," he interrupted impatiently. "The soup will be ready in a minute. We'll eat when your mom gets back. Have you forgotten the rules? A kid whining here like a greedy pig before the adults sit down, what does that look like?" "I'm not greedy..." The ringing in my ears grew louder; I could barely hear my own voice. "Dad, please, just one piece of candy." "How long are you going to keep up this pity act?" He finally glanced back at me, his eyes cold and disgusted. "Look at your brother, quietly doing his homework in the study. He's never like you, always complaining about being hungry or unwell, trying every trick to get attention!" "You, low blood sugar? Eating so much every day, with that thick layer of fat, what low blood sugar? Who are you putting on a show for?!" My body grew colder, and my hands and feet began to tingle unresponsively. I knew I couldn't hold on much longer. I turned around, leaning on the wall to head back to my room, wanting to call 911. Dad's scolding voice kept drifting over: "Go back to your room! Don't get in the way here and mess up my cooking. I'll call you when it's time to eat." "Just looking at you makes me angry. A perfectly fine kid, not focusing on the right path, always scheming on how to eat more, take more, and fight for attention." I couldn't hear what he said next. Operating on pure instinct, I managed to twist the doorknob of my bedroom, but my hands were so weak I couldn't even pick up my phone. A second before completely losing consciousness, I heard my brother's crisp voice from the living room: "Dad, the ribs smell so good! I'm hungry, I'm going to grab a piece first." In a tone completely different from when I asked for food, Dad laughed gently: "Go ahead, eat. It was made for you anyway." Tears slid down my cheeks. I closed my eyes, and my consciousness plunged into darkness. I was jolted awake again by the sound of Mom coming home. "The food looks great tonight. Where's Leo? Why isn't he eager to eat today?" Dinner's ready? A wave of joy hit me, and I sat up from the floor, wanting to go eat. How strange, after a short nap, my stomach wasn't hungry anymore, and my head wasn't dizzy. My hand touched the doorknob. I pushed, but the door didn't open; instead, my hand passed straight through the handle. I froze for a moment, only then realizing my hand was semi-transparent. I turned around blankly and looked. My body was lying on the floor, contorted and stiff. I suddenly remembered a random fact I'd read before: acute hypoglycemia is fatal. So, I was dead. Just as I plunged into confusion and panic, I heard Dad complaining about me again. "I just lectured him a bit earlier, and now he's throwing a tantrum and refusing to come out for dinner. Who does he think he is?" Mom laughed and smoothed things over: "I'll go to his room and call him. He probably has his headphones on and didn't hear us say it's time to eat." Dad scoffed but didn't object. Mom's footsteps grew closer and closer.
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