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Sunday, October 30, 2011


I just spent around 5 whole hours making a whole tiramisu cake alone which was finished within 3 minutes. I got praises and all, but somehow something's still missing.

I've basically gotten over the fact that he would be, as his job demands, be away for long periods of time every now and then. Something that only lasted for 4 months can be accepted, why is it that I can't accept something that has been with me for my entire lifetime?

If you're curious, I'm just gonna get straight to the point and address my self-image problem. Those who's known me long enough would know that I've been overweight for most of my life, because eating has never been a restriction, and since my house had a maid to do the housework, we didn't have to lift a finger. And since I was the more intellectual of the three sisters, I usually just sat, read books, did my homework, but seldom went out for sports even though I love getting sweaty and sticky once in a while.

Because of this, my family used to call me "the little fat girl", which was supposed to be an affectionate calling for the Chinese that kinda signified a good life since the child has more than enough to eat that he/she gets fat. When my mum dismissed our made due to attitude problems, she did assign us housework, but she kept most of the heavier ones for herself, not because she thought we were too precious, but because she couldn't trust our inexperience to do a good job.

It wasn't until I was in Form 1 when I had my first "boyfriend" did I even think of losing weight. My heaviest was 60kg, which was really surprising for me because I thought I was only in the mid-50s. I then started on a nightly marathon of 2000 crunches per night and dieting as much as I could (skipping dinner, mostly). Three years later I reached 55kg, and all my family members were ranting about how I'm a motivation for some others to start losing weight and getting healthier.

But I'm still not happy. At 55kg still, I'm 162cm, with a 28-inch waistline and C38 cup size. My boyfriend loves my body, my parents and sisters all say I'm beautifully proportionate, but somehow all I see are the flaws - a large tummy, orange peel skin at the thighs, flabby arms, fleshy cheeks, and invisible shoulder blades. To me, where shoulder blades are concerned, visibility is equal to sexiness.

Even at 162cm, I'm taller than some of my friends, and taller than average girls by a bit, but at home, I'm midget. My older sister is at 172cm, my younger sister is 160cm at 13 years old. Both are taller than me, and so is my mum and dad and a few other relatives. At home, I'm always laughed at for being shorter than everyone, and what they don't see is that it hurts. I didn't ask to be short, don't they think I would want to be like Giselle Bundchen, with beautiful skin, body and a wonderful life?

When I was younger I'd watch fashion shows just because I love the way the models cat-walked down the runway, the way their hips pushed out every step they took, the beauty of the walk itself. The naive me at that time then started to mimic the cat-walk at our driveway, making the techno beat sounds with my mouth and imagining that I was a supermodel on the runway, wearing designer clothes and trendy make-up. I think my neighbors had a good laugh.

By Form 4, I reached my lowest body weight ever - 50kg at 160cm. It was a milestone, but unfortunately it didn't last long - holidays and gifts from my relatives kept me fed with snacks. When I was dieting, all I did was cut down on portion sizes, most of my meals still consisted of meat, red meat, in fact. Vegetables were almost taboo for my meals.

Sleep was also sparse as I had a bad habit of staying awake until the wee hours of the morning, then waking up 3-4 hours later for school. I had lost weight, but I was unhealthy. I'm still unhealthy, as a matter of fact. I know all this, but to have someone tell me this like I don't know it makes me really frustrated.

Especially after I started university, I hated my own body more and more. Girls everywhere were strutting around with short skirts and tank tops, wearing sky-high stilettos, and not a bit of extra flesh in place - slender arms and legs, flat tummy. All this makes me even more self-conscious about my slightly-heavier-than-average frame.

And the thing is, I really envy my friends who have such high self esteem, who carry themselves as they are with confidence. That's the things I lack - self esteem and self confidence where body shape and skin beauty are concerned. I always see my flaws, very seldom the strong points. People like my friend Crystal, however, focuses on her strong points, and doesn't waver upon peer pressure.

These are the people I envy - those with seemingly perfect lives, bodies and skin. Skin. My skin is average, oils up when the weather is hot, but unless there's dirt, I've got no blemishes but blackheads. However, I hate that my skin tone is uneven - I'm basically fair, but it isn't fair all over, I got little patches of dark skin all over, and they're not freckles. My pores are like the craters on the Moon, and most of them are constantly filled with black and white heads. Every time I forget to change the bed-sheet and pillow case once, I get breakouts like the plague.

My mum thinks I'm just playfully complaining like every other girl in the world now, but secretly, I cry at night, just because I hate my body. I know I'm not doing the best I can to put it to it's optimal shape, but it's more because I let myself become how I am today, and hating it.

Sorry for the emo post. I just had to let it out somewhere.

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