Invasion

Yesterday was one of the many normal days I have been having. I went for my Personal Training session at the Gym in my condominium with my cousin (whom I hate but tolerate because it’s cheaper to buddy-train and no one else is available to do so).

My training days with E (Trainer) is usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the evenings and Sundays in the mornings. But since she was sick, she had rescheduled it to Friday evening (i.e. yesterday). At first, my huge-assed cousin said she could not make it and so I privately messaged the Trainer (instead of in our What’s App Group) to come earlier and do a solo for me. She agreed to come at 4pm (Note, huge-assed cousin is working and cannot make it any other time other than in the evenings). That was settled. Then suddenly, said cousin who was ‘endowed’ with an alarming-sized posterior sent me a text saying I should have let her in on my plans and made it transparent in the group chat that we were still going to go ahead with training (Again take note, she already told us she COULDN’T make it and I only made plans AFTER she told me she was tied up. Also, all this while when she had been down with a calf injury, this was the way I planned my solo sessions with the trainer – by privately messaging her.) I was angry but I told myself whatever and actually took the pains to reschedule to an evening session (despite it being my birthday and that I MAY have plans – though I most definitely did not. Birthdays are not my thing.). After the session we usually have to do some cardio workout on our own but since I knew some cousins were coming over I had already done my cardio before hand and I left right after training while HAC (huge-assed cousin) apparently stayed back (though just for a while because she came up pretty quickly to my house to shower because she had a dinner to attend to with her sisters, who also came over for a while and my lame-assed Uncle who’s a dimwit – I know, I have an overwhelming, uncontrollable love for my extended family). And that was when trouble began.

In case you haven’t quite picked up on the fact that I hate my cousin, I HATE MY COUSIN. She is a nosy, manipulative bitch and she thrives on gleaning information from one household so she can
(a) use it for herself
(b) use it for her entertainment as she spreads stuff around
(c) maliciously twist the information out of context and then spread it around.

Basically, she is an attention-seeking whore. She came into MY kitchen and helped herself to MY FRUITS and my GREEK YOGHURT. I was using an alternative brand and there was about 70g of it left and I didn’t care if it was FINISHED by the said bitch because usually I do not eat that brand. I only bought it because my usual one was out of stock. But then MY MOTHER DEAREST had to tell her oh don’t worry there’s another kind and she opened the OTHER fridge and took out my usual yoghurt to give her a spoonful so she could hit a 100g (oh she was using my food scale too). ALL OF THESE WITHOUT EVEN CONSULTING ME or at least PRETENDING TO ASK ME IF IT WAS OK. Bitch face.

And at that point, she saw my huge collection of greek yoghurt tubs (usual one that I had finally bought after they kept being sold out and so many places) and she went back another time to TAKE A PICTURE pretending to my sister that she had to ‘keep a food log because the trainer said so’. HELLO, if that were true you would have handed in the food log 8 weeks ago, cow.

At that point, I was still unaware of this happening and I sat down to eat my dinner across from her in the table and the bitch so obviously moved the glass bottle that was obscuring her view  of my plate so that she could SEE what I was eating and as usual comment on it.

I was really, deeply insulted and I was simmering inside. I wish she would drop dead because honestly, nobody likes her. Most definitely not me. Her invasion of my home and privacy is not something I tolerate well. I feel like I HAVE to hide in my own house. I have training with her again tomorrow and I had to tell my mother to be on the lookout for a text that I would send before coming up so she could serve my breakfast in my bedroom and under some “I need the toilet” pretense, I’ll lock myself in and eat in peace. I also told my maid/helper to change the location of my tubs from one Fridge to another (the beauty of having 3 fridges) so that when she comes and tries to take one, we are all going to tell her to fuck off. Ok now, my mum is too nice and she is only a party to this because she knows it upsets me to have my LIFE scrutinised. So when she asks (and boy am I willing to bet my life on that), we will say, “Oh we have given those away. Those weren’t for me. I bought them for a friend.” The shit we have to resort to to protect our privacy and semblance of sanity.

But I also analaysed this:
She may know what brand of yoghurt I eat but:
(a) it is incredibly hard to get that particular brand so I will say I got it from blahblahblah
(b) she cannot possibly be me. That’s just one aspect of the variety of foods I consume. Just because she knows one thing doesn’t mean she can deduce the amount, time, frequencies and type of meals I eat. In this race, she is still lagging behind. And I am happy for that. I know I sound like a bitch but you haven’t met her and she’s toxic. I wish I could cut her out but oh boy, that doesn’t happen in our desi families where tolerating gossip and being continuously back-stabbed is preferable to having a peaceful life.

It is my time to shine. So bitch, take a seat and don’t hold your breath.

F.

The Journey of a Thousand Miles Begins with a Single Step

Don’t be so shocked. I know, 2 posts in 2 consecutive days? What has happened to F? But here I am, again with ample time on my hands as I sit right in the middle of Prague Airport waiting for Emirates to open their counter so I can check in and get my boarding pass and head towards the gate to wait some more. You know, I really hate transits. They are a waste of time and energy, but more about that next time.

Anyhow, I left Vienna yesterday by bus at approximately 1830 hours. I was a little sad (being honest here) about leaving my two travel mates because I knew I would be seeing them again. One is from Singapore and the other Hong Konger would be visiting Singapore soon. So not much to cry about there. More than feeling sad though, I was nervous. I did not know how I was going to manage lugging around my 2 pieces of luggage from Bratislava Airport (where the final bus station is) to the Hotel which is, yes, only 600m away. But thankfully, I managed. I bought two 35-cent tickets – one for the short, short journey to the Hotel and one for the return to the Airport the next morning. No major incidents occurred except for the time the bus almost closed its doors on me as I disembarked to carry down one of the 2 pieces of luggage I was heaving around with me. I was about to enter the bus (96) again to take my second luggage when I heard the piston releasing air and the inevitable creaking of the door hinges as it overcomes its inertia and begins to close. So the door hit me a little but it’s no apocalypse. I survived. I am stronger now because I wasn’t killed (they say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger).

I walked the even shorter distance to Hotel Aviator Garni and was pleasantly surprised as the receptionist came out to help me heave my bags over the short flight of stairs and helped me check in. He even carried my bigger luggage all the way to my room for me. It was located on the second floor of the hotel, which looks more like a  motel. He spoke English reasonably well which is like music to my ears because I have yet to meet anyone who speaks decent English in Slovakia. Turns out, he was brought up in Canada despite being born in Slovakia (no wonder the gentlemanly demeanor, the helpful nature and the well-spoken English!)

I went in, charged my phone, changed into shorts, used the toilet and laid down on my bed only to realise the wifi had a code and I did not know what it was. So I went down again and the same receptionist helped me out. He was really, really kind.

I came back up to my room and was online reading articles, listening to music (thank God for the Saavan App), and watched videos on YouTube. I also messaged some friends and family on WhatsApp. I wanted to use my laptop but for some reason, it could’t connect to the Internet. Then I slept till 0445 hours the next day. I wanted to sleep some more but couldn’t. So I just lazed around, tossed and turned, closed my eyes, played with my phone again, checking for messages and likes on my instagram, etc. Then I fell asleep for a while – a really really short while – when I heard some noise. I was annoyed because it sounded like someone was either clicking something or moving about touching stuff that was causing the pitter-patter noise. Only then did I realise, IT WAS RAINING! My heart sank because I had to walk a short distance to the bus stop which wasn’t sheltered and I was going to be wet. I couldn’t afford to open my umbrella and hold it above my head because both my hands were going to be occupied with handling the luggage. I quickly downed my thyroid medication and chromium supplement and took a quick shower. The rain was light but not light enough. I wanted to ask if the receptionist could call me a taxi. And I also saw an off chance that the rain may start becoming lighter and I wanted to start walking as soon as that happens. I was ready by seven ish and walked down with my bags. Again the receptionist heard me coming down and helped me with my bags. Though on the way down, my cabin sized luggage fell and slid down the stairs which is a good thing because it meant i did not have to lug it down. He gave me my bill (I had already paid yesterday when I checked in) and..  <<WAIT FOR IT>> HE OFFERED TO DRIVE ME TO THE AIRPORT! HOLY RAVIOLI! I was incredibly touched and eternally grateful for his kindness. In case you haven’t guessed, I am a worrywart and his act of kindness totally lifted a burden off my chest! He picked my heavier luggage and I the lighter cabin one and together we walked to his car to keep them and then I got in and he dropped me off. He told me the hotel was still undergoing completion works and will be fully done in a while more. He explained that they would have vans to pick passengers to and from the airport in future. He also told me here that he was raised in Canada and he said he really liked Singapore because he knew it was clean and beautiful though really crowded.

I realised I had no need for my second 35-cent ticket that I had purchased the day before. But what’s 35 cents compared to the free, amazing service I was offered by the receptionist. I should have asked for his name!

If you ever have to transit in Bratislava, I highly recommend the Hotel Aviator Garni. Not only was the receptionist incredibly warm and accommodating, the rooms were also beautiful and clean and the service was impeccable. I am a little disappointed that I only spent several hours in the room because it was one of the best hotels I have seen during my time backpacking in Europe these past 6 weeks (talking about reasonably priced accommodations that aren’t 5 or 7 stars).

So I was in the airport really early. I connected to the free wifi and passed my time stalking people on different social platforms and spamming my family. Then it was finally time to take the flight from Bratislava to Prague. I checked in at the Czech Airlines counter at 0810 hours and it was fast. My bag weighed 24.2kg (whoops!) and the lady let me through without so much as commenting that i was technically 1,2kg over the allowed amount. She also said my bag would be through checked-in all the way till Singapore so I do not have to pick it up in Prague or Dubai! The day seemed to be getting better and better (fingers crossed, don’t want to jinx anything).When I was arriving in Bratislava, I had to pick my luggage up at Prague and re-check in because thy couldn’t do a through check-in for me. But thank my lucky stars (and God) that it was possible this time around because, as I have mentioned countless times, my bag really weighs a ton. The lady at the departure gate checking our boarding passes, however, looked like a mighty bitch. She didn’t smile and was checking out her nails while we waited for her to see our passes and allowed us entry. I hated her attitude. I managed to clear customs check and went in with no further incidents. Sat and waited again till it was time to board the plane. And now, here I am. Waiting in the Airport for Emirates.

I have only completed stage 1 of my 3 stages of journey back home to Singapore. I dread the upcoming transits and waiting but on the bright side, this is the longest transit I have. The next one in Dubai, I get to shop! I need to get my 11-year old sister her Chanel Nail Varnishes. I know it is ridiculous that such a young girl is already so luxuriously choosing branded nail polishes to ‘play’ with but I think it is perfectly fine because:
(a) she is really passionate about her nail designing
(b) it is a perfectly healthy hobby
(c) she is incredibly talented
(d) those cheap nail polishes cannot last long, making you buy more over a shorter span of time so in actuality, you’re wasting more money than you’re saving
(e) these nail polishes would mostly be used on us, her sisters, so really she is doing us a favour.

My route for this journey back home goes like this:
Bratislava-Prague (5-hour transit)-Dubai (3-hour transit)-Singapore.

Alright then. I shall stop typing here because I want to check in and also because my back is hurting from sitting in such an awkward position.
Till next time,

Astalavista

F

An Idle Mind is a Devil’s Workshop

It’s funny how quickly time seems to fly at times and at others, it painfully crawls by. It’s all a matter of perception I guess. I have been away from home for the longest period ever while on this trip to Europe. I am currently on my second last day here and will depart tomorrow morning at 0955 hours from Bratislava to  Prague. And my flights go on and on and on.. No, I’m not kidding. I’ll be boarding three flights to get home to Sunny Singapore tomorrow: Bratislava – Prague – Dubai – Singapore. It will take me  ~24 hours to get home!

I never knew that these 6 weeks would pass as fast as they did but then these last few days seem to go by incredibly slow. It seems all I have been doing is looking at my planner and watch how the days inch by, how the seconds seem to still and time freezes. I just want to be with my family, which is another funny story because I was moody all the time just before leaving for Educate Slovakia, my project which I signed up for on AIESEC where I get to board for free in a student’s dormitory while providing English lessons on my country and culture to Slovak students in elementary and high schools. Can’t say I really enjoyed my time doing that. All I know is that this trip has been eye-opening for one and only one reason: TEACHING IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT MY CUP OF TEA. Or coffee for that matter. I couldn’t wait to get out of all the schools, no matter how nice the staff and students were. Time again betrayed me by going by at a snail’s pace. No, scratch that, even a snail was moving faster. It was torture to have to teach the same contents over and over again to groups of students who couldn’t care less. I died trying to muster up the same high level of enthusiasm and creativity when teaching a new batch of class the same thing I have been teaching the previous 82283249231 batches! It was torture. It was plain torture and my brain cells actually degenerated when I had to slow my pace down and talk as though I was speaking to a bunch of 2-year olds. That just makes me wonder how mothers do it. How are they around their child 24 hours a day and not suffer from the gooey brain sludge oozing out of their ears after it starts degrading? Oh well, they say a mother’s love is unparalleled. I’ll just take it as that.

Currently, I’m sitting in the “lounge” area of Hotel Ibis (Budget) in St Marx, Vienna, passing time as I wait for my bus to depart from the bus station (which is nearby considering but will feel as though it is 3278462349432 miles away as I start lugging my luggage with me because it weighs a ton and oh, I have 2 to lug). My bus will bring me to Bratislava Airport where I’ll be sleeping overnight at a nearby hotel (again I will succumb to my laziness and take a city bus from the Airport to the hotel which is only 600m away because nobody, and I mean nobody, in their right minds would want to carry along a bag that weighs 252430248 kg). So in actuality, I am not being lazy. I am being practical. I do not want to reach home with arms that no longer function properly just because I insisted on WALKING 600m. So there you go.

I have been thinking these past few days just how funny humans actually are. I have been eagerly counting down my days till I get to leave the bloody EU (because it is just gross and dirty and functions as efficiently as a fish trying to breathe on land) to see my family. I miss them the most. But I realised that the past few weeks before leaving for the EU and the project, I have been moody and unreasonable and have even lost my temper countless times. I was impatient with them and didn’t stop to think how much they actually mean to me and that all those times I got mad was unnecessary and trivial. I should have taken a deep breath and just let it go! But this trip has served me well in the sense that I now know a few things about myself:

1. I was unappreciative of my family and the sacrifices they made to accommodate me and my crazy OCD habits. I will not be so petty any longer.
2. While it was hard to leave them and be away for so long, I now know that I can and my time in Australia will be significantly better as this was a preview of my time away. It is going to be for a much longer time but I know that I will be able to cope if I know that at the end of a certain time period, I will be able to meet them.
3. I learnt many new things about the EU, how many different countries use the same currency, how you can cross borders without a passport, the ease with which you can source for and book hotels/hostels and how to effectively plan trips.
4. I made a couple of new friends and I am incredibly proud of myself for not pushing people away (as I tend to do after a while) and that I persevered in maintaining a good relationship with everyone (even though secretly, I wished to murder a few in their sleep). These are the people I believe who will help in the passage of time and make it fly!
5. I really need my alone time and this trip has afforded me NONE. My alone time actually means doing nothing with family in the background. I seem to be always highly strung and too proper when I am around people I consider outsiders, i.e. friends and anyone who are not family per se.
6. While I enjoy cooking & baking at home, I cannot seem to muster enough energy to cook a decent meal here while away from home. I need the convenience of a well-stocked kitchen and I want my mother’s cooking because I realise how healthy and incredible it is.
7. The weather in Europe is incredibly unpredictable. It should be in a class of its own.
8. I CAN’T BLOODY WAIT TO GO BACK TO SINGAPORE BECAUSE IT IS SO CONVENIENT AND I AM A SPOILT BRAT.

I will detail my travelling events in a new post or else this post will turn into a 1000-page novel. And I shall end here for now. I just decided to post because:

(a) I had ample free time on my hands
(b) There is free wi-fi
(c) An idle mind is a devil’s workshop & I can’t have that happening during the first day of the fasting month! As it is, I am not even fasting..

Till next time, adios amigos!

x o x o
F

Am I a Writer?

There are countless times I decided to keep a diary. I thought it was pretty cool to put pen to paper and let my thoughts flow, seamlessly. However, as romantic as that sounds, it was never the case for me. I used to struggle and get frustrated. I’d tear out the pages from my beautiful diary, ruining it in the process. Then I’d just chuck the whole diary away because who wants to write in a hideous, torn book?

Then I started blogging on Blogger.com, detailing every aspect of my Junior College life. I had fun doing that and it was never a problem for me to come up with something. I was always getting into trouble in JC so it was easy to narrate my daily events. And, I had a best friend who was always away on chemotherapy in India and I never wanted him to feel left out. So writing had a purpose then. I wanted him to know every detail of my life, of what I have been doing, of what he thinks he is missing out on. I wanted to keep him entertained. With an aim, writing just becomes easier.

Over the years, I have tried writing time and again. I’d source for topics, I’d attempt to write stories for local writing challenges but I have always only written something halfway and then totally stopped. I find it hard to write.

I guess that’s why I love reading. Anybody can do it. It’s easy!
I have loved reading ever since I was a child.

Image

Growing up, I had enlarged tonsils and some fluid drainage problem in my ear. As a result, my ear fluid used to collect in the wrong area, making it hard for me to hear. While this is a problem for those trying to call out to me, it was a blessing for me. I could easily shut people out (with negligible effort on my part) and tune into a book for as long as I liked. My parents had to physically shake me to get my attention.

My dad used to think I was the world’s most engrossed child, but my mum insisted there was something wrong (she was right). Anyhow, I went to the doctor’s and got everything sorted out.

But my love for reading stayed. It didn’t start then but then again it could have. I was five. I guess that’s young enough for one to cultivate the habit of and develop a love for reading.

I read Enid Blyton’s books, books by Roald Dahl. I even had the ‘Mary Kate & Ashley Phase’ because that was way cooler than Sweet Valley! I swallowed anything I could get my hands on. I wanted to know more about other things. Anything. I just loved getting lost in another world altogether. Harry Potter & The Narnia Chronicles were the next best thing I ever did in my life. I grew up just wanting books and so I have a well-stacked bookshelf with books from everywhere by everybody. I don’t have a specific genre that I love, nor a specific author. As long as I chose it and picked it out personally from a sale or a bookshop, I would read it. Truth is, as long as it is a book and it catches my attention, I’d have swallowed it.

 

Daily Post: Writing Challenge
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/24/writing-challenge-reflections/

The Journey Begins

It feels as though I am back to square one. I keep thinking of where I was and where I am now and I feel so helpless and powerless. I feel so damn useless, that I let myself slip this way. That I let myself go. It’s too much.

I was 72.2kg before leaving for my UK trip. In less than 2 weeks (10 days to be exact) I put on about 8kg of body weight. I know some of it was water and when I came home, I promised myself never to binge this way again. I vowed never to let myself fall that much. And so, I stuck on my program for 1.5 weeks. In the first week, I lost about 3.1kg or thereabouts. I knew I just had to stick with it to lose the remaining water weight but I didn’t. Instead, I had another binge eating session. I could try and justify myself saying I was worried because I have recently developed hypothyroidism and I thought it was because of the diet. But I know now, that is most likely not the case. I shouldn’t have eaten like that. I got ill (again) with the large intake of sugary foods. I puked because it was too much (not because I induced myself to). And now I feel disappointed. I feel like I am back to where I was 40kg ago, where I was struggling to control my appetite, when I lied and ate chocolates stealthily, where I feel that no matter what I do, I will end up being fat. I hate my cravings, I hate that I give in, I hate the feeling after. What do I do?

I have seen the doctor and now that I am more or less certain my hypothyroidism has nothing to do with my diet, I am back on it. I will stick to it. I will write everything I am feeling and chart my progress.

I want you guys to know that whatever it is, you can get back up again. No fall is too great. No hurdle too terrible. We all fall and we shall rise again.

I have binged many times, but tomorrow is a new day. Time to buck the fuck up and take on this challenge. People have their fair share of problems and mine is with my weight. So I am going to rise to the challenge and overcome it.

Today was day 1 and while I had some cravings, it wasn’t too bad. I feel bloated and swollen and my skin feels sore. Apparently, this is common with binge eating disorders where people binge on sugary foods after a long while. The body is unable to fathom the sugar as it has been deprived of it for a long while. Hence it swells and starts treating it as an infection to be fought, so edemas form, making you feel like you’re bruised all over. It hurts to touch me. I feel sore.But this is it. I am not going to suffer this anymore. I will fight it. I will allow myself some chocolates now and then but my main aim is to reduce my weight back to where I was. I will weigh myself this Sunday and I shall update my statistics and no matter what the number on the scale says, I know it is not the end. That this number shall be the heaviest I will see, ever. That this is the LAST time I shall even see those figures. After this, everytime I take my  weight, the numbers will go DOWN. I promise you that much. Or at least, it will stay the same. No more putting on. No more upward curves. Everything is going to be better from now on. I will make sure I love myself enough to do myself this justice. To do my body this good deed. Because I deserve it. So does my body.

weight-scale

I will not be demotivated or depressed about the scale. And I will stop seeing the time I lost while on my binge eating spree. I know I could have utilised that time to lose more weight and be thinner than I am now, but no. I made a mistake and I am forgiving myself. Because folks, that’s the most important first step.

Stay tuned. A brand new me is emerging.

The Perfect Guy

So it’s past midnight as I sit here at my table, type, type, typing away on my keyboard as my younger sister sleeps behind me on the bed that we share. I am ‘Tumblring’ pictures of elegantly dressed brides. I love seeing the typical white wedding gowns they don but what I enjoy seeing most is the colourful Indian/Pakistani wedding costumes South Asian women wear. This has got me thinking about my own wedding – when will it come, to whom will it be with, what type of clothes will I wear, what ceremonies to have, who to invite, what colour theme, etc.

South Asian Bride

I wish to find a man who is mature yet childish at the same time. He must be sensible enough to take a stand and run a household, to make firm decisions and take care of us both but he must also be endearing and cute. He must be able to make me laugh till my sides hurts and my eyes water.

I want a man who can hold a conversation with my parents. Who can convince my Dad why he is the next best man after him to take care of me. To show him that he will never leave me and will forever hold my hand.

I want a man who knows that I want to be taken care of but that I do not NEED to be taken care of. That I can be independent and strong. That I can lead my own life and make my own decisions. I want him to understand me such that he even knows when my silence means something at times and when my laughs mean nothing at times.

I want a man who knows that it is not my duty to cook for him and that  I do it precisely because he doesn’t expect me to. I want a man who knows that my place is not in the kitchen or in his bed, but beside him. I want a man who is soft and sensitive but hard and firm at the same time.

I want a man who can hold me when I cry and soothe me when I am incensed. I want a man who can be with me when I am sick, when I am down and when I am at my lowest. I want a man who wants to still be with me at my ugliest so I can show him myself at the prettiest.

I want a man who thinks I am worth it.

 

And the sad part is, I already found one such person only to have lost him
I wish with all my heart he comes back and when everything else is dark, hope is the only light, and that is precisely what I am clutching on to with both hands.

I Do Not Love Myself

So, this may sound like what many others around go through..

I often stand in front of the mirror (usually after having a shower) and start to critically examine my body (almost to a point where some might think I am suffering from an acute case of paranoia – note the double superlatives, it’s to emphasize my point – or at least a severe case of obsession). There are many things I do not like about myself. Here’s a list, to name a few..

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1. My Bulging, Hanging Belly

I hate it. I hate the way it sags over my waistline, looking swollen and huge every single day. The stretch marks all over it does not help its case. I look at it and I squeeze it and I will it to go. I use all my strength, shut my eyes tight & fervently utter a pray, or five hundred, and I wish with all my might for it to just disappear. Vanish,without a trace. To pull a disappearing act. But then I open my eyes and the image staring back at me in the mirror is devastating. The huge whale-like ball of fat is still there, adamant to move. It is flabby and soft & scarred.

2. My Cellulite-Filled Thighs
I stand in front of the mirror, twisting left and right, just to get a clear, complete look at my thighs from all around. They are sagging too, with cellulite at almost every inch of skin. I dislike the fat thighs. I loathe the abrasions I suffer on a hot day, where I perspire in between my legs, in a way that is not at all sexy or desirable. They rub against each other mercilessly, generating heat from all that friction I could incinerate half the world to ashes in a matter of seconds. Then I come home and see the discolouration of my inner things and I want to puke my guts out. I wish my thighs were slender and toned. I wish they were unblemished, with baby smooth skin that I wouldn’t mind touching every second of every day.

3. My Limp, Thin Hair
I wish to have those voluminous hair everyone on every social networking platform seem to have. The kind of hair that has a life of its own, that cannot be tamed. It is wild, it bounces back and resists every one of your attempt to smooth it down, to de-tangle that wild mane of forest. Mine is resisting of course – resisting to be styled into an appropriate look that can fool people into thinking I have double the volume of hair I actually do.

4. My Down-Turned Lips
I wish my lips were carved into my face, like a perfect bow. Plump below and sufficiently thin upstairs, I wish I could smile a 1000-watt smile that would dazzle everyone who looked at me. I hate my last-minute, pasted-on smile that looks like a fish’s pucker.

5. I Loathe My Flabby Arms
My stretch marks are every where. They encroach, seemingly harmless on every square inch of my body. But don’t be fooled. These scars are ugly. They torment the eyes and even worse, the mind. They make me sick. I look at the scars and I think, “Who would ever want to love me? To touch me? Or caress me lovingly? Who?”

Body image is a serious issue that many grapple with. I do not have these issues but am merely stating the fact that I could have them, just like so many others. I wish people would stop measuring themselves up to actresses and people they see online. These figures have been modified and altered. They have been surgically changed and graphically enhanced. Nothing is real. Not everything is what it seems. We need to be mindful of our bodies, of the love and attention it requires not because of it’s imperfections but despite it. Our bodies are what we make them to be, and we should strive to make them beautiful, no matter the indentations on your skin. The blemishes speak of wars and battles gone through and won. Yes won, because you are here as I am here and we are living a miracle. A miracle that is us.

So, hold your heads high and learn to live, laugh & love.