Influences (or Why I Write the Way I Do)

Natalie Goldberg (free-flowing writing)
Clarissa Pinkola Estes (wild woman writing)
Jane Hutchison (direct-to-the-point writing)
Ernest Hemingway (simple words writing)

Friday, September 24, 2010

Loving my Fat Body

at 27C, for the first time in 3 months,. i stepped out of the house with no jacket on. told myself, had to wear summer shirts na but as the mirror showed, i was bulging in all the wrong places. not the summer body any man would crave and any woman would aspire for. so who would want a body like mine? i couldn't wear shorts anymore without getting conscious of cellulite-heavy thighs. sleeveless tops don't look flattering with flabby arms. before, my mind would readily scream DIET! half-cup rice would banner my meal combinations and mealtimes would stop drastically by 6pm.

but as i was walking down the tree-lined stretch of dalston crescent, i just couldn't bring myself to these seriously anymore. at 40, i have hung my spurs on dieting. i am just tired of not eating this so i could achieve a body that is, always, less than what i fantasize. being thin is now an unreachable dream. before i left for perth, i was introduced by this well-meaning doctor in ortigas of HCG treatment particularly using her own experience as an example. lo and behold! i think she went from being a size 16 to a size 8 in 6 weeks. she showed me pictures of middle-aged, middle-class women, just like me, who had achieved hour-glass figures, and even beautiful bright dispositions by just losing weight. if i stayed then more than a week in manila, i would have been lured. then perhaps now, i would have been a size 8 or 10. i would have not been writing this blog.

but time really helps, and the internet. i researched on HCG and got to thinking that this is just one of those faddish things that could work but which, ordinary people like me would have difficulty coping. for who can whip out P32,000 every 6 weeks, feast on a controlled 1500-calorie a day diet, and inject one's self with HCG every day? i thought of all the effort and the abuse that this body, my body again will go through...and i say, ugh...this has got to stop. somewhere, along this stretch in dalston. some time, here, as my skin gets kissed by the glorious sun one friday afternoon.

one has got to live with the truth, the hard-to-swallow-truth that one is really fat, no matter what the effort. that the scales would always tip above 140, and one just had to forego, forever, wearing shorts, thigh-short tube-like summer dresses, bathing suits, sleeveless blouses and body-hugging outfits simply because one is just fat. i'm not saying this to have an excuse to eat non-stop like a tank. no, the me saying this just had had enough of the abuse, mentally, physically, and emotionally, that i subject my body to everytime i try to reach this unattainable ideal of slimness. this is just not me, anymore. it would take 23 years for me to acknowledge.  FAT i am, i say with finality. FAT i am, whatever i do.

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