The Skinny on My Fat

I've just spent a wodge of my web-time reading about plus-size issues, in Indonesia and beyond, mainly due to coming across the blog of a new acquaintance, who sometimes writes about such things and posted links to other articles. I also came across a sad story I wrote when I was 18, about the eating disorder I was recovering from, in an attempt to win 1000 pounds and match the standards of the previous winners who ate rabbit foetii and lost their fingers climbing Everest and having miscarriages etc etc. The story was totally sincere though, despite its monetary motivation.

Like many girls/women, I've had all kind of self-esteem and body battles. The only time I was "thin" was when I was 5. That was because I was incredibly picky with my food, and only liked eating noodles and peanut butter. I also had a special magic trick where I would throw most of my meal under the table and pretend I had eaten it, much to my parents' irritation. When I was 7, my parents left me in England with my grandmother (on my request, I wanted to stay at my then school), who set about changing my eating habits. I didn't like milk? She ordered chocolate milk. I didn't like vegetables? She baked them with cheese. She fostered my enduring love for roasts and other English delights. And every weekend, she and my great-aunt would take me to McDonald's and treat me to a Happy Meal. Sometimes I could even have two, they didn't mind. By the time she returned me to my parents in Cambodia, about half a year later (not sure really), I was a relative butterball. My ribs no longer poked through my skin, and I had a double chin when I shoved my usual one chin down. Not at all unhealthy tho, when I recall my parents' response to me at the time, I had the idea I was horribly tubby, but really I was pretty average.

But now, in my parents' eyes, and thus my eyes' too, I was chubby, on the path to becoming fat. It was frustrating because altho they would make a big deal about my weight, they didn't really give me an idea of how to do anything about it, except not eat as much. And that I couldn't do, because I was constantly ravenous. I now realise that was because I always had worms (sorry, TMI). So I think my parents were worried the vast amounts of food I was chugging would lead to extreme obesity when, due to the little parasite buggers, it only resulted in a bit of chub.

I have Filipino relatives, who are incredibly blunt and constantly teasing, about anything they can possibly mention, and around this period, they dubbed me "Porkita". They considered me the female version of my very tubby cousin, "Pok-pok".

My parents' continued to be their self-esteem boosting selves, telling a 9 year old me, that if I didn't lose the weight now, "it would be much harder later on". Basically they told me when I hit puberty all the baby fat I had now would become a permanent part of my genetic make-up or whatever. Pressure! All this finally got to me, and from then on, I was totally neurotic about my body, altho not doing anything "productive" about it. I felt self-conscious when we had formal events, because I didn't think anything would look nice on me. Swimming, once one of my most frequent and favoured activities, became a nightmare, particularly the path from the changing room to the shallow end. I surreptitiously compared the circumference of my thighs to those of my friends. I sucked in my stomach and tried to count the calories I was consuming.

I remember I had a few freak-outs at sleepovers, because I desperately didn't understand why I was fat, and wanted to be like Betty and Veronica and Barbie. My patient friends (all about 1-2 years older than me, as I'd skipped a grade, and thus hitting puberty and getting enviable figures) would comfort me, and remind me that no one could possibly attain those cartoony body shapes. Despite their reassurances and sage words, I continued to cling onto the ridiculous idea that when I became a teenager (i.e. 13), my childish chub would magically tranform into an hourglass figure. Talk about setting yourself up for a disappointment!

I returned to England when I was 12. My dad tried to cheer me up, telling me that most of my peers in England would probably be fatter than me, as they were bigger there than in Asia. So I would fit right in. I actually looked forward to that, but I can't remember if he was right anymore, from my 12-year-old perspective. I think I did feel average. I was so used to my neurosis by then that it became pretty much tolerable. Plus we had hideous uniforms that did no one's body any favours, so I think I resigned myself to being dumpy and unattractive for the foreseeable future.

The summer after my first year at school, I finally decided to take action. I began taking a lot of walks and watching what I ate. The weight came off incredibly quickly. My parents were full of admiration, and bought me a bicycle. My mum treated me to new clothes. I was not thin, but I was finally "normal", especially according to my parents.

Normal was what I strived for from then, until my late teens. When I was 15, at college, I was quite happy with my body. I felt I was about half a stone overweight, but that it was a fair trade off for being able to eat what I liked. I could be the right weight, but not eat everything I liked, which seemed too much of a sacrifice.

Then I went on the Pill (for hormonal issues rather than birth control), and I began to become fat again. I hardly even noticed it myself. My dad had to point it out to me one family holiday, and said I should probably consider coming off the Pill, as it was obviously having a detrimental affect. So I did, but the weight stubbornly refused to come off. Until my mother decided to put me on a carbs-free diet, and then, after a few months I was normal again.

All this bouncing about in size reinforced to me the power of figure control and beauty. When I was slimmer, everyone treated me much more nicely. My parents were prouder of me, my girlfriends complimented my clothes, I had more male attention. When I piled on the pounds, I was a failure. I was by now very obsessed with what I ate. I stuck to the carbs-free diet religiously. After about six months, I noticed I was no longer losing any weight, and might even be putting a bit on. So I decided to take it further, trawling the internet for nutrition information. I decided I should go on the raw food diet, which I did, for 2 months. And lost drastic amounts of weight. I was still not thin (I don't think I'll ever be, unless I starve myself for longer than that), but I was smaller than anyone had ever seen me. Some of my friends were worried, saying I resembled a doll, but most were very flattering, saying I looked amazing. Even the worried comments about me being "doll-like" were pleasing, harking back to my childish adulation of Barbie. Who wouldn't want to look like a doll?

However, this messing about with my body exacerbated my hormonal issues, and I *had* to go on the Pill again. It was that or deal with six week periods, with only two weeks in between each one. I was determined not to let it affect my weight, but it immediately sharpened my appetite painfully. Like when I had worms, I was constantly ravenous. I cringed, because every time I succumbed to my uncontrollable hunger, I felt I could actually see myself getting bigger. The only thing I could think of doing what throwing everything up I was eating. That way, I could give in to the urge to binge, but not suffer any of the effects. Or so I thought. As most people are (or ought to be) aware, bulimia is a particularly damaging activity and it isn't actually an effective way to maintain your weight (funnily enough).

I'll end the bulimia story here, because I already dealt with it in detail in that story I mentioned. Basically, I eventually got through it, and that period represents the time in my life when I reached the peak of my neurosis regarding weight and body (or so I hope!). The extremes I experienced during that time, taught me that I never want to be that in control ever again, because really I was completely out of control. It taught me I'd rather be chubby that totally dictated by a desire to be thin.

It's also a bit sad reflecting, because I feel that I'm not naturally a person that would be neurotic about these things, but I had it forced on me by my parents and relatives. Or maybe that's the case for every person ever! I actually confronted my dad once, when he was teasing my getting chubby littlest sister. I told him to stop and asked him why he said stuff like that so much. He said the reason he went on at us about our weight, was to protect us from the wider world's harsher comments, and that it had obviously worked for me, as I was no longer chubby (this was during the carbs-free period). I told him that it was only my parents and family who had ever made me feel bad about my weight. No one at school had ever teased me -- all the worries came from home. I think from the look on his face, that was a revelation, and he seemed ashamed.

Anyway, since the beginning of this year, I haven't been happy with my body (as I'd piled on the pounds yet again, particularly following being fired and then getting stressed by Sketchy), but in a measured way, and my attitude has actually been improving, likely as other factors in my life have been improving (like making more friends in Jakarta, feeling a bit more at home here etc). I was pretty apprehensive about how huge I would feel moving to Asia. And the articles I was reading -- that spurred this meandering rant in the first place -- were mentioning how hard it was. Maybe the life I'm leading is too sheltered, or perhaps my skin has become thicker than I thought, but I've neither felt too white or too fat here, so far. People often think I'm Indonesian (I'm half-Filipino) and no one has said anything about my size, and I haven't noticed anything more subtle than actual out-loud words. I spent a year in Tanzania where I felt both of those things, acutely, and it was while I was recovering from eating like a crazy, so I was likely more sensitive. Everyone shouted about the color of my skin (thinking me either white or Japanese), and people often remarked on how fat I was, altho I know they meant it as a compliment or simply descriptive -- i.e. "You are so fat and beautiful!" "Your friend who is fat like you came to the office today" etc etc. The only problem I have here is buying clothes, if I find anything in my size, it seems to make my body look rather obscene, usually in the chest and thigh area. Nothing is high-cut or long enough, which is odd because this country has the world's largest Muslim population.

Fat is a funny issue. It certainly crosses over into health issues, but I also feel for a lot of people, fat is a state of mind, inextricably linked to other emotional matters. People often waste a lot of time worrying about their body and beauty, in proportion to how much they should -- not that anyone should, per se... but how many times in your own life, have you felt really down on yourself, and then when looking at pictures of the time, realized you didn't need to feel that way at all? That the only problem with the way you looked is that sad expression on your face? (Miss Anne Throp'ist has remarked that the reverse is also true, ie you find a picture of yourself with a ridiculous grin, in perverse proportion to the hideousness of your hairstyle).

For myself personally, I've accepted I'm over the ideal size, and I'd like to change that, but until I'm doing something genuinely productive about it (gym, watching what I eat), I won't get too frustrated. I've also found that going to the gym doesn't make you thinner, but it makes me feel more energetic and I get a lot of useful thought-processing done while I'm doing something monotonous on the treadmill. It encourages me to eat healthier too. The key is really sadly, eating less calories (but not necessarily less overall), more than exercising more.

Anyway... I could probably talk about this forever, but luckily for you, I need to get my fat ass to a gig.