Addiction is Like This

Photo by Kate Stanworth

Addiction is the little box I keep it in. Addiction is dreaming about it. Addiction is using it until I pass out or throw up. Addiction is the smile I get after the first one of the day.

Addiction is an alfajor. Addiction is like this.

I arrived in Buenos Aires on a bright crisp morning in August. I was barely 22 but thought I had it all, as a nice apartment and a secure job awaited me. I was full of hope and ambition, ready to take on the world.

But in one day it all came crashing down.

Some friends of mine told me about it. They said everyone does it. They called it a South American tradition. They pressured me and I gave in. I took my first bite of an alfajor.

Ecstasy. It was all so…amazing; the excitement of opening the wrapper, the sweet kiss of sugar against the tongue, the flicker of your eyes after the second bite. I felt like God after finishing one. Nothing in world compared to that experience. I fell in love.

I began using heavily. When I couldn’t find an alfajor I would eat dulce de leche straight, freebasing it when I had enough. I found myself walking by kiosks miles from my house just to stare at the colorful wrappers.

After a few weeks, my appearance changed. I gained weight. My teeth began to fall out. My fingertips were stained with chocolate and traces of sugar hid in my nails. I was an obese, cracked out Willy Wonka.

Photo by Kate Stanworth

Paranoia set in. I woke up to dawn’s soft shadows just to check on my stash. I lost my job and moved in with fellow addicts, then onto the streets. I fell into debt with candy stores. I felt alone, helpless and fat – very fat.

My addiction continued until Havanna’s collectors found me. I woke up in the hospital with two broken legs and the frowns of my parents and friends surrounding me. When addiction strikes everyone hurts and I could see it in my mum’s eyes. I had to get clean.

I checked into a clinic with intentions to kick the habit. Within three hours withdrawal symptoms set in and I lost it, running around the room licking anything that I thought contained sugar. Even the plastic fruit ended up in my mouth. But four weeks later and 20kg lighter, I was clean. I did it.

I hit the streets feeling great, but addiction is something stronger than most people realise. Within an hour of being free I had eaten nine alfajores with the money my parents gave me to pay the rent. It was then I realised that I couldn’t live my life without this sweet. I was a slave.

Photo by Kate Stanworth

My plan was simple enough: smuggle as many alfajores into the US as possible. The execution would be sticky however, as border security was at an all time high. I made my decision.

I wasn’t even in the airport 15 minutes until they were on to me. The dogs could smell me a mile away. That was the last day I would ever eat an alfajor.

My time spent inside prison was minimal but enough. I saw things inside there I never though possible: victims of cooking accidents (too much flour), guys missing eyes because they shorted someone a gram of sugar and the most horrid thing of all, artificial sweetener.

I write this to you today a clean man, and with hopes that this story will steer you in the right direction. Be strong my alfajor lovers.

What is addiction? Addiction is realising that everyone in the candy store knows you by name. Addiction is two triple layer alfajores and an orange Fanta for breakfast. Addiction is not knowing when to stop.

Addiction is an alfajor. Addiction is like this.