My romance with cellulite has been the most endearing relationship of my life, but sadly I will have to end this relationship, I have tried to, but such is our love that it bounces back and comes to me.
I am 25 and a fair share of my life has been spent struggling with weighty issues. I have tipped the scales from 100kgs to 60kg only to bounce back to 80. Now that I have a major wedding in my family, and I have decided that I need to look my best, and by best I don’t mean good clothes, hair make up and shoes (ah well they are the package) but its more about the physical appearance, and by that I mean .. a slim and toned look.
I have been inspired to blog about my tussle with fat after having watched some brilliant documentaries by Dawn Porter. Since this wedding has been announced, I have been trying to hit the gym… in my head. Physically am too lazy to return from work and pack my bags and hit the gym.
And to worsen my already deplorable state, I just finished my professional exam, and trust me, when unable to attempt a single question paper, the rage is eased by gulping down a nice plate noodles with sausages… ah!! What would we have done without food? Well nothing I guess. So now the pressure to shed the stubborn fat has doubled. After having watched those documentaries, I had an enlightenment that I am happy the way I am and I certainly don’t need to be waif thin (in any case I can’t be waif thin given my bone structure and assets that God has very generously bestowed me with.. a word of thanks .. THANK YOU LORD
But deep down I did feel the twinge of pain when I walk into a store and I never ever get clothes of my size (this even pushed me to say that I will become a nudist, but more on that later) jeans and pants if worn on my arms would fit and not on my thighs, all this propelled me to go to a store that sold clothes for pregnant women. And al presto I did find clothes of my size! But imagine, without being pregnant I wear XXXL sized pregnant ladies’ clothes, what would happen when I am actually pregnant, I will explode, and maybe the idea of being a nudist then would be quite applicable.
Nevertheless, I embarked on this mission to lose weight and it has been 3 days since I have been on this. In these 3 days I have been to gym once, had a glass of mochacino frappe and croissant with eggs and some muffins that I made (the turned out really well) and I didn’t eat that much rice and manage to curtail other delicious items.
Today , for work I was carrying fruits and bought a pack of flat rice baked crispies (they don’t taste that bad) and while I walked in the food court and saw the skinny minis eating the most delicious, oil and butter laden wraps pizzas and burgers, and the lipids in those food would be so kind not to attach itself on their rear and their glutes, I was left fuming with envy. I am the few “lucky” (sarcasm intended) ones who would add an inch by just mere looking at food. The smell of fried chips, grilled chicken wafted through the air and tickled my taste buds and nostrils. And believe me what kept me going is a body of Halle Berry with my face morphed on it, and that helped me fight my demons away and with a smirk I walked past.
So why am I taking all the trouble and pain? Yeah because I want to walk into a store and not a store pregnant woman’s store, where I will walk in when I am actually pregnant, and get a size apart from XXL.
SO why do people think that cinched waists with skeletal hands and stilt like legs are the ultimate sign of beauty? As Dawn Porter rightly asks and investigates, is it about how the media projects the image of a glamorous person?
Since I had hit puberty, I have been growing leaps and bounds, in terms of my body size, as a 13 year old; I could easily pass as an eighteen year old. And yes, my most loving and concerned family (even the non family) would rush to me or my mother or father with a word of advice and boy! Words of advice were they. And come to think of it, who does not have a word of advice when they find you to be weighted, literally with flaws. It seems everybody becomes the aunt agony and would love to give a free word of advice, amidst all these cacophony and criticism and “concerns” so to say, I developed a defense mechanism. I found humor. True, had it not been my loyal love cellulite, I would not have been able to harness a sense of humor. And this sense of humor became my armor, my shield to fight the people off; it became to cushion to hold me when I fall. It is my humor (I am claiming that I have a little bit of sense of humor from what my friends have told me) that has allowed to mock myself and look beyond what others see.
I so wish others would see that too. I wish some man would see that too, beyond those thunder thighs, gothic legs, and see that… hey i am more than a 36-24-36,I am 40-33-46 (yeah that does look like a measurement of a small room)
So as I continue with this break up with the sole beloved of mine, so long!!