Yes, I am going to talk about body image, especially around my own, since I do not exactly relate too much with others.
Rather, I chose or had been trying to ignore what other voices been saying about my body.
I grew up as an overweight person. Always a couple of kilograms too heavy. In secondary school I am not counted among the school's attractive kids, although I never cared about that (I did not care about boys until late into my teens). I came across rather very comfortable with my non-attractiveness. I built the impression that I do not care about looks.
But I lied. I had my insecurities. My extra fat here and there. My balloon-shaped tummy. My flabby arms. My somewhat deficient height (according to myself, I am of short stature, falling below the average height).
Only that I do not ever talk about it with any of my friends. Much less when my friends are counted among the attractive. They do not know that I had started doing pushups and situps almost everyday since I effing was twelve years old.
I know when they are being apologetic to me in this matter, sheepishly smiling when they talk about who is what with me. They never said anything about me being beautiful.
Well, at least I could count on them as being truthful by not inflating my self-image with lies. The worst that could happen, the lies would just remain lies, blatantly beating me into degrading my own sense of self. My growing, searching young teenage sense of self.
So I continued on to pretend that I am okay with whatever. Okay with missing out the attention that came with being considered pretty.
I consoled myself with saying I am glad I am not born pretty.
Going to college and alone among new set of friends who are more or less equally clueless and in the midst of finding themselves out, away from the old environment, I adventured. And yet, I found out that it was a mixture of contradictions and disappointments. I wore that bra that push up my non-impressive racks to appear one size larger. I slathered on that foundation to make my face appear flawless. I chose slingbags as my accessory because it can hide my rather standing out derrierre from catching attention.
But nothing I do ever made me feel any more beautified.
(Finally) blooming somewhat, I have had my share of getting unwanted attention. This man that could not hide his true colour upon seeing me in a rather tight red t-shirt, only for me to disappoint him on our meeting by me wearing a modest outfit, because it was obvious. Then, that creep that would not bother hide his intention and spew stereotypes on my face.
I had the highest "honour" of having a stalker, in a man whose job was protecting the safety of the place I was studying and staying at.
Interestingly, not a single one of these people who had no sense of shame to force themselves on others seem to be the type who look at their own self in the mirror, because, according to myself, they are not of the attractive types that I was so tortured into conforming all these years. At all. Not one single bit, be it their physical looks, far much less their souls.
I have long since lost weight, although it was not due to my relentless situp and pushup routine. I have not done that in many years.
Fate turned on its head one day, and it did not even take something new. It was only due to an ailment I am long born and living with, which used to be an excuse for me to justify my overweightness with. It suddenly become a bane when it ravaged my body just a little bit more than it used to do due to environmental factors.
Nowadays my weight tarry around the points in between the highest "healthy" and lowest "overweight" weight ranges. Gone is my "glorious" back end. My stomach is flat, my arms stick-thin. For the first time in my life, I have got thigh gap.
For the first time in my life too, people begins calling me "thin", mostly in a dismissive tone. Ironic when I probably should anticipate some long overdue "you are prettier" remarks.
Nobody ever said that.
Amidst this supposed to be welcomed change, I am no more happier than I ever was - whether I am this heavy woman or that bony woman, I could not feel happy, because no one permitted me to. Everyone is entitled to say what they want about my body, but not me. Whether in the matter of self-image or social setting, my body never belongs to me.
The only things I obtain from all this is the hurt I get when I am unattractive and when I am attractive.
