I remember quite vividly the intense guilt I would feel
after each meal. I would start pinching my arms, my thighs and start feeling my
jaw. I would start doing sit up and jumping jacks during every commercial break
and before I sleep. I would jiggle my thighs while eating, thinking that it
would erase some fats off my body.
I hated seeing myself in the mirror, but would always be compelled
to do so. I needed to scrutinize my puffy, round face and my stumpy legs. It’s
as if the more I hated my face and body, the more I needed to look at them.
I hated myself for not having the discipline to resist the
temptation of the sweet aroma of food. Hated the fact that food tastes so good.
(I’ve never tried starving myself, however. I love the feeling of a full stomach
too much, to leave it empty.)
I loved fashion magazines. I would spend hours looking at
models and memorizing their names. I envied their long, lean body. I envied
their strong jaw line. I wanted to be them.
Gradually, and fortunately, more important things such as
relationship and work started taking precedence over my life. I’m much less
critical of myself and am more open to accepting compliments from my loved
ones. I find Katy Perry, Queen Latifah, and Halle Berry
really sexy and those models that I used to obsessed over, to look too much
like young boys.
I still find myself struggling once in awhile. I’m quite
ambivalent about putting on pounds on my body. Even though, I’d love to be more
curvaceous, I can’t help but feel quite uncomfortable when I feel that I’ve
gained some weight. I still jiggle my thighs occasionally, and I still hate the
feeling of tight-fitting clothes. That said, I am confident that I will
gradually grow more comfortable in my skin and accept every flaw as a marker
for who I am.