It hurts when you call me skinny
Since I was a little girl, I have been quite insecure of my looks. I guess it’s because I always knew I was somewhere kind of pretty, but never the prettiest one around. So I often picked on myself for things wrong with my looks. I had curly brown hair, and I wanted straight black hair. I had light, hazel eyes and I wanted them black too. I was kind of chubby-looking and I wanted to do everything I could to get that flat stomach. But overall I managed to present myself to be quite secure with the average-cute girl image.
But years passed and I travelled around to different places. My body went through changes with the climate. I moved to Ooty (a cold hill-station in South India)and put on a lot of weight. I went up 11 Kgs in 3 months. That was when I was not an average-looker anymore.
Everyone took notice of my weight, my friends back home made fun of me and my father too was worried that I had turned into a lazy bum. I soon went by the nick-name fatty, translated in many Indian languages, and my insecurities resurfaced.
I never did diet but I read articles, went seeking advice and exercised like a maniac to lose those extra few kilos on my body. But to no avail. My weight remained the same, my love for food unencumbered, and my boyfriend unimpressed. So I finally decided to split my meals into five, as someone had once suggested, and hoped that it would help. But it didn’t. I still remained 7 kilos overweight and my dream of having a flat stomach was drifting further and further away.
A few years later, I gathered all these insecurities, packed them off in a trunk, and moved to Mumbai. This was the city where I would lose my inhibitions, my insecurities and my worries, I thought.
My first month, I lost upto 9 kilos without me having to try at all. I looked fit as hell. I was so self-assured, I even began to pull off my curly hair with confidence. It was time for crop-tops, hot pants and all that would stuck to my slim body. It was a miracle I didn’t even want to try and decipher then, but now I’m beginning to wonder.
Further from there, I kept losing weight. No matter how much I ate, how I swore myself back into a lazy lifestyle, my weighing scales just kept frowning and frowning. From new-entry-hottie people began to take notice of my weight problems again. They thought it was either malnutrition, drug abuse, or plain ugliness reeking from my ageing skinniness. Everyone began to comment, suggest and give me lectures on how I needed to put on weight.
So when I finally sat down with my doctor to understand what the hell was going on, he made me understand that it was my body, its behaviour and my high rates of metabolism. My body was always meant to drastically change its behaviour with weather conditions. And in a hot, humid, city like Mumbai, I CANNOT put on weight by natural means. And to top that off, I had lost some weight due to my accident which was going to take time to recover from. I began to explain this to people but they wouldn’t believe me. And what was worse, is they wouldn’t stop commenting about it.
This hurts me more than it did when I had put on weight. And here’s why:
People do not understand that being skinny is not a choice. And what they refuse to relate with is that it could hurt a skinny person to be called skinny over and over again.
We are all so sensitive with fat people. We use euphemisms like “healthy” “plump” “big” “chubby” to tone down the harshness while describing a fat person. But we think being skinny is some kind of a privilege. So if someone calls me skinny I should take it as a compliment.
I’ve been fat, I’ve been skinny and I’ve been fit, and I must say that the person I am has never changed irrespective of what stage I was in. I still eat the same, I am as active and healthy as I always was. I have the same mind, voice and morals. The only thing that has really changed is the way people behaved towards me.
Now when I look back, I have had some beautiful moments with myself when I was fat. I loved my love-handles, my chubby cheeks and my pillow-like arms. At the same time, I think I now embody a sexy kind of skinny. I feel like a tall, flat-stomached-flat-chested French model that is just waiting to walk a ramp every time I hit the road.
So to all the people out there who try to mother me, if you really care for my health, stop messing with the health of my mind! I am skinny and that’s how I’m going to be as long as I eat this food, drink this water and live in the humidity of this city. And for now, that feels great!
And no, it doesn’t feel ugly, it doesn’t feel unhealthy and I most definitely do NOT feel anorexic as I could eat more than your entire family could in one sitting.