Many many kilos ago, there lived a little girl, in the little land of Bongs.
It was Me.
[Though, for those who have had the misfortune of seeing me lately, I understand that it’s difficult to think of me as ever being “little”. My heartfelt apologies for anybody who went back home and dieted/exercised on my behalf. I sincerely hope you have overcome the trauma.]
Anyway, going back many many years when I hadn't taken up the challenge of outdoing the weighing scale, I don’t really see a different “Me”. I mean, I am essentially the same person…just hiding behind layers of adipose…and smiling above the third chin I am blessed with (Oh! What generosity from the God of Adipose).
Though I “see” myself as the same, it’s interesting to note how people’s comments to/on me have changed with the years (kilos).
People – Why are you decked up so much? Who are you trying to impress?
Me – Umm…haven’t made the list yet.
People – You look so sweet and cuddly.
Me – Thanks, you said the same thing when you saw my neighbour’s overfed dog.
People – You look taller. Are you wearing heels?
Me – Yes I am. It’s quite warm today, so I thought it would be cooler up here.
People – Why are you hugging your saree pallu in every snap? Are you pregnant?
Me – No, just my tummy. Thanks for asking.
When I hear about my friends being on diets (friends who are half my weight) or my fit-and-frisky colleagues going for a run at lunch time, I wonder:
Is there more wrong with me than my weight?
Why don’t my hands fumble when I generously butter my toasts in the morning?
Why don’t I ever stop at the salad or fresh fruits section at the supermarket?
Why do I confidently ask for two sugars in my cappuccino, where all my friends go for a skinny flat white?
Why do I wait for Amit to pick me up when the shopping centre is just a km away from home? (I even complain if he doesn't manage to get the nearest parking)
Why don’t I ever read the calorie information of the food (junk )I buy ?
Why can’t I ever think of a salad as a proper meal? Or a tasty option?
Why don’t I feel ashamed to ask for a size XL when I am out shopping for Tees?
Why do I change the TV channel when they say “1 out of every 2 Australian is obese. Obesity increases your risk of many heart diseases ” ?
Why do I eat the fourth scoop of ice cream without a jitter?
Why does the mirror never make me think of suicide? Or at least a gym?
Why do I love telling my sister that my picture files are too “heavy” to be sent to her?
Why don't the pictures of my slim-and-sexy friends on orkut/facebook intimidate/inspire me?
Is this "I-know-exercise-is-not-for-me" excuse good enough?
Is this “I-don’t-care-how-I-look” attitude normal?
Is this “I-know-diets-don’t-help” perspective a kind of escapism?
There is more wrong with me than my weight.
I think I need therapy.
But for now, a brownie would do.