The title is probably more intense than it should lead you to believe. But it’s also accurate and not exaggerated at all.

You’ll see what I mean.

One With Entropy

I was leaned back on the couch, girlfriend supported in one arm, freedom with range of motion in the other.

My little brother’s feet were two inches from my face; the living room couch is his bed. He has an actual bed, but he never sleeps there.

Tv was on. I don’t remember what was playing, but I’m willing to bet I convinced Daina to watch another documentary, as I tend to do.

On the right side of the screen, decuries of parakeets are always having a heated discussion.

In the kitchen (right behind the tv wall) my mom was yelling at four of her friends on facetime. She wasn’t mad; Dominican women talk like they’re screaming.

So I did my simple fix: Turned the tv up louder until the surrounding noises drowned out.

Now my environment was fine-tuned.

Perfect!

Now, The Switch-A-Roo

Right when I thought I had everything under control, my girlfriend hit me with one of the most frightening phrases a man could ever hear from their lady:

“I’m hungry.“

The moment I heard it I started shaking in my boots.

Thankfully, my mom was cooking a beat-punch, tongued hunched lunch.

Problem solved, right?

RIGHT?!?!

*twitches a little bit*

*experiences repetitious, quick, and frequent seizures he does not remember having*

My girlfriend doesn’t eat pork, so she couldn’t have salami. She doesn’t eat eggs, so she couldn’t eat that either. She doesn’t eat dairy, so she couldn’t have fried cheese. And at that period in time she had never tried mangu (I know, I’m ashamed too), so I was not about to experiment with my life either.

You know what she does eat?

Cause I have no idea. If you do, let me know.

She can go the whole day on a singular pretzel, and a slice of seaweed.

JK. If you guessed Chick-Fil-A, you are right.

I ordered God’s chicken for my lovely lady. And because she will not eat anything unless I’m eating the same thing, I also got myself a holy sandwich and nuggets.

But now I had another problem::

Refusing food in a Hispanic household is sacrilegious. AND I’M ORDERING OUTSIDE FOOD ON TOP OF THAT.

Not sure what I was thinking because I wasn’t thinking at all.

Naturally, the moment I realized my mom might see the food, my anxiety skyrocketed. I knew exactly how she could turn this into conflict — I’d lived in this cycle my whole life.

She might accuse me of being ungrateful, and threaten to never cook for me again. Even worse, make exaggerated assumptions about my wealth, tell me I need to pay more bills. Orrr, throw in a slick remark engineered to agitate my tranquility.

I’ve heard her mantras before:

“You know I must throw a little bit of poison on everything.”
“It’s my way or the highway. I don’t care what you think.”

I trust her to be exactly who she has shown me to be. Which means protecting my peace often requires avoiding unnecessary battles.

So I ate my food undercover. I met the delivery guy in the lobby (something I never do), hid my food behind a couch pillow in between bites, scanned the room for signs my mom might walk in. And when it came time to throw away the evidence, I carried the trash under my shirt like I was smuggling something across borders.

To Daina, this was obscure behavior.
“Why are you doing the most? Just eat the food.“

To me, it was logical. I’ve lived in environments where peace was scarce. 

And when you’ve had to fight for it, you learn that sometimes the most complicated route is the safest one.

Here I Go, Psychoanalyzing

I wasn’t avoiding my mom’s reaction. You might assume that, if you assess me from the outside looking in. What I was really doing was protecting my emotional stability for the day.

It’s easy to dismiss that kind of behavior as overthinking or paranoia. But for those of us who have lived in toxic environments, every ounce of peace is worth safeguarding. Even if it means extra effort, or idiosyncratic logistics.

Circumstances like this have taught me that peace is a feeling, in the same way that joy is. And feelings can be harnessed to inspire certain behavior. The same way excitement can inspire you to start something new, or go the extra mile, the feeling of peace can also inspire calculated action.

Especially if it’s a rare commodity in your life.

Keeping The Peace

Some people might see the Chick-fil-A operation as overkill. But to me, it demonstrates something.

That peace is a culpable motivator just like any other feeling. One that is worth fighting for.

And while everyone is out there chasing happiness I’ve become aware that I’m more driven by budgeting for peace.

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Author’s Note

The ideologies in this writing are interconnected with other writings I’ve done on peace, and abstruse strategies people develop when trying to fulfill an objective.

• Thinking About The Worst Doesn’t Make You Paranoid, It Makes You Prepared
• Why I Struggle To Trust People In Need

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Psychologically, behaviors like mine are discussed under the umbrella of avoidance coping; efforts to minimize distress by steering away from situations likely to disrupt emotional stability.