Bean There, Fart That

G6PD remains the most obscure piece of information I carry about myself. It's tangible, recorded in black and white on my (rather unkempt) medical records; yet it's something so cryptic to this challenged mind. I find myself pressing down the black-ball point pen in between my thumb and middle-finger, making out the meaningless capital G, number 6, P, and D on the blank next to "Allergies" each time a medical history is wanted of me.

This intolerance I knew of eversince I learned how to dial my grandmother's number, and that just so happened to be fairly early. But it was always just something waved off with one hand, since I only have (had?) what seems to be a "mild case". Have or had, who can even differentiate, since I have never really understood what the four-letter/number word affiliated with my being actually entailed.

My limited inisight on this four letter (okay, that's not quite accurate) anomaly brought me to the hasty conclusion that is an intolerance for all things bean and peas; or kekacang as they more succintly categorize in the Malay tongue. Then again, there was my mom brushing off this condition shared between my brother and I. And that always made it seem okay for me to go ahead and gobble down all the types of beans in the world, if I pleased.

Considering the diet I was accustomed to, that wasn't much; since it only really comprised of long beans, string beans, french beans (the more glamorous appelation for the Malay kacang buncis) and winged beans (or kacang botol). Considering the other fact that I am not a big fan of beans and peas beyond long beans, I thought I was all set. It wasn't until I set my foot here on the North American soil that I find myself face-to-face with copious types of beans and peas. Snow peas, edamame, gorbonzo beans and the likes have became my allies come days when food in the dining halls just seem too unbearable.

Did I quiver as I boldly let my tongue caress those beans before I swallowed them in one big gulp? Did my mind ever entertain the possibility of me breaking out into hives, gasping for air, as the beans shoot their potentially hazardous venom into the red river that is my blood? Did I ever think of the repercussions from G6PD? No, no and no.

And fortunately too, eventhough my knowledge on the intolerance was founded on erroneous details. It is in fact, an enzyme deficiency, and the only bean I am banned for life from consuming is the favia bean. Lucky, lucky me. Stupid, stupid me--for being in the dark for so long. Alas, lucky lucky me again that my mom has wisely/unwisely dismissed my case as a mild one that I was never haunted by a scene of myself having "No air, No air" at a crowded dining table in a foreign land.

And after these two decades, guess what my finest discovery about beans is? No, it isn't quite that I won't die from eating them (since I never believed so, only that was with blind faith).

It is this: Beans, they make me fart. Prooot prrooot. All day and all night long.