Wednesday, October 23, 2013
This was a really nice day, taken when we were leaving Pullman Putrajaya post-teambuilding session.
I wanna make more blog posts like this now.
On a different note, it's the official month for Breath Cancer Awareness and KLCC is bathed in pink lights at night. Need to go there soon!
A gross thing to know is that I always used to find it so adorable whenever Caramel, my cat, licked my hands or face, until I saw her licked my other cat's ass. Now I just swat her away whenever she's about to pounce on my fingers. Yuckkkk.
The constant struggle in life has always to do with how you feel about yourself, externally. Growing up, boys were mean. People were stupid. I started growing boobs at the age of 12. When I was 12, I was a small AA cup. By the time I hit 13, I was wearing B cups. The next year, I was wearing C. When I hit 17, I was a D cup. Finally, at the age of 20 plus, they stopped ballooning to a huge size of DD.
I had never felt comfortable with my body. I always felt I was so short, and that my boobs were too big for my frame. I tried jogging, swimming, cardio, every fucking thing they advised you to do. They would say, 'you're lazy, go exercise, your boobs are all fat' and 'the boobs will go once you stop eating so much, fatty'. The result from jogging so much and my boobs not going away gave me a heavy top and skinny bottom. My legs were muscular, my boobs would still feel like inflatable thingies stuck to my chest.
I envied my friends who could buy those fancy bras with the cute thin straps. It was cheap, too. I had to spend money on those ugly, granny-like bras from Wacoal and Marks and Spencer. It was so expensive. Going into Jusco with my mom made it worse. The saleslady with her measuring tape around her neck would come to me and ask, 'Why so big one ah?'. It made me feel like an ugly ogre.
Anytime I wore any top, the front would strain, like a bunch of paper bags stuffed down the front of my shirt. Any buttoned-down shirts would peek open, with my bra peeping through. And then there were those boys, men, hands like vultures, reaching out to you. Guys leering at you, making wet rapsberry noises by pursing their lips together, looking at your chest. No matter what you wore, decent or not, they would still leer. Even friends made crude comments, saying to me 'Ala kan syiok dapat tetek cam you' (it's so nice to have a girlfriend with boobs like yours). An ex even named it Pamela (left boob) and Andersen (right boob).
There's no nice ending to this little musing. Boys, men, whatever - they still leer. I think the important thing is just to embrace it and flaunt it (nicely). As long as I'm healthy, I'm lucky. Skinny girls wish they had boobs. Me, I wished it was smaller.