57. the "f" word.

I've never....

been the tallest girl. I've never been the most sought after girl. I've never been the most beautiful, or gorgeous, or pretty. I've never had the perfect hair, or perfect nails, or perfect skin. I've always been known as the fat, dumpy one, trailing along behind her family.

Every time we'd go around visiting relatives, everyone would say that my brother was so fair, and I was so dark. That I was "makin sihat" (Malay for healthy - insinutating fat). Even my friends made fun of me, called me a penguin. I was born with inverted legs, my legs will never be straight. It's gonna be as crooked as scoliosis. I waddled and walked.

One day when I was 17, it hit me real bad, I started to panic.

God, why wasn't I born skinny? I'd cry and wept as I prayed to him. My mom's words cut into my heart, jagged and sharp, as she screamed at me and poked me and said, "gemoklah, pergi jog" (Malay for you're too fat, go and jog). I felt right there and then as if she had just branded my forehead with the word FAT. 

Two weeks before my prom, I panicked. I couldn't find anything to wear. We went to this costume rental shop, the theme was "vintage" or some shit like that. In the picture, the model looked like Audrey Hepburn. When I tried it on I felt more like a sausage roll clown parading around in an ugly wig. I couldn't even zip the back of the dress. I was only 17. 

Insecurities, like vines on a window, crept up to me. I was prickled with fear. I went to bed, my pillows drenched from the tears that poured from my eyes. I pinched my own stomach, pulled at the layer of fat, and cried at how fat I was. Fat. I grabbed it ferociously, trying to tear my own fat away from my body, only to cry some more because it hurt, and cried at how pathetic it all was, how pathetic the whole situation was. That I was going to die a virgin spinster, alone, fat fat fat. 

I did the inevitable thing.

I took the easy way out.

My trembling fingers found their way to the back of my throat, and I purged. I purged all the food I ate, cried again because I felt so fat. I felt confused. I thought I was born this way. But people were telling me I'm not supposed to be this way.

I began to go jogging. I jogged everyday, rain, shine, drizzle, an hour and a half, determined to burn those bloody fat away. I wish I could tell you that suddenly, I was starting to resemble a beanpole. Alas, it did not. My calves harden, my legs grew skinnier, but my boobs and arms remained the same. I changed what I ate, my boobs still remained. I ate, purged, jogged, did sit ups as I watched Alias. But my boobs still stayed the same.The boobs. My ex even named them, Pamela, and Anderson. He told me that it was his favorite thing about me, that my boobs were big.

I was so uncomfortable with my body.

Because I had thin legs but I had big boobs and arms. I felt it was too skanky for me to wear anything short. Other girls pulled it off effortlessly, if I wore it, with my giant boobs, I would redden when guys leered at me. Or did that ugly screeching sound where they pursed their lips and made wet raspberries. Guys would lick their fingers in front of me, or grabbed their crotch. I felt so weirded out. I was ashamed of my own body. I was ashamed of myself.

At the age of 23, when I returned from my 6-month-internship stint in London, I entered the workforce immediately. Exercise had long gone dissipated into the wind when I left for Europe. Returning back to my hometown, I ate with such vigor and enthusiasm. Satay? Yes, please. Meehoon goreng? Bring it onnn. Fried chicken? Do you even need to ask? I ate like there was no tomorrow.

Then, at that time, a friend invited me to go to the gym with her.

She told me it'd be nice to be healthier for my then-boyfriend. I agreed. I signed up for one year, and man, I worked my ass off there. Stairmaster, rpm, cardio, weights, you name it, I did it. A pompous peacock prick of an instructor told me, "you ni dah cantik, tapi you lagi cantik kalau you kurus. Train dengan I la!" Whatever. I did the bodytones. My body was changing. My boobs still remained.

I found out later that my ex had been cheating behind my back with this so called friend.
Yep, the one who invited me to the gym.

They had an affair to remember. What a fool I was! Of course he would cheat on me! Who the fuck wouldn't? She had a hot body, he had mentioned once that if he was ever to do a threesome it would be with me and her. Haha, what a guy, huh?

I found out this girl later on bitched about me and made fun of me. Of my hair. My skin. Of my body. To my best friends. While she was going out with my ex. For a while, that really killed my already-almost-zero-self-esteem. I moped around. I blamed the world. My mom. My dad. My inferior gene pool. I stopped gymming. I drank a lot. 

But then I realized, to hell with the world! It's about me! 

I dumped that ex. I changed jobs, picked up my jogging regime, did weights at home, completed tried to do Beach Body Insanity Workout. I changed what I ate, stopped drinking coffee so much. Started buying the right bra. Bought new shoes. Bought clothes that I thought accentuated my curves instead of hiding them. 

It changed my outlook on life.

For once, my happiness wasn't dependent on men. I radiated from the happiness I gained from looking good. It sounds weird, but it felt good to look good. To hell with the wolfwhistles. It made me feel even better. I started going out with guys, not because they wanted to get into my pants, but because they thought my smile was the sexiest thing ever. One of the guys said that "babe, your confidence is so sexy". But it all sizzled out, of course.

And now, I'm with someone who makes me feel so beautiful. That when I'm in the room, I'm the most beautiful person he sees (I know it sounds vain, but yes, it really feels like that). But that's a plus. He tells me all the time that I'm sexy, and I feel it too.

The world's no longer a bitter shade of black for me. It's not gloomy anymore. I used to hide behind frumpy clothes but now I wear what clings to my skin. Sometimes I look in the mirror and say to myself, "you look beautiful today". It makes you glow with confidence. That glow is the one that actually makes you more beautiful. A stranger looks at you and says, "wow, this girl is smiling, her smile is so sexy". Ask anyone, whether you're more attractive with a smile or a frown on your first. They will always say the former!

You have to realize that you don't have to be tall, or short, or skinny, or fat, to feel sexy. You just have to feel good about yourself. Because that is what makes you sexy. 

It took a long time for me to be at ease with myself. I'm still short. I'm still frumpy. I'll never have perfect hair. Or spotless skin. I'll always have the right front teeth longer than the left. My legs will never straighten. I have scars on my legs. But I'm okay with that. And so should you.

This post is dedicated to every girl out there, who have not felt comfortable in their skin at one point in their life, or hated the sight of themselves in the mirror.

Hehe okay yeah I stopped gymming for a while but I'm picking it back up now and I'm gonna try to reduce my carb intake, I swear :0