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fat: update


I’m a few hours (and a good night’s sleep) removed from the statement and I think I have moved away from “hurt” and descended (or should it be ascended) into the “angry” phase. 

I’m not fat.  I know I’m not fat.  I am pretty healthy and can certainly afford to lose a few pounds, but why do these people think I’m fat? 

By “these people,” I am directly talking about the people who have called me fat for the past year–all Indians, mostly Malayalees, and mostly those who have immigrated in the past five years, but not necessarily. 

No, you’re probably never going to read this, but if you did, I’d want to tell you:

  • Superstar, you are not.  Do I comment on how I wish you had more hair, was a little taller, or maintained a six-pack?  (Okay, I know that was petty, but please let me get it off my chest?)
  • Secunda, you’re comment is exactly where I was hurt.  It wasn’t being called “fat.”  It was that these are people who KNOW me, and FAT is the first comment that you can come up with to describe me?  I’ll take crazy, kooky, or nuts, but FAT?
  • He’s going to marry me.  Aren’t there other things that should matter to you (or him) than my weight?  As in if I would be a good partner that he can love and trust and rely on for the rest of his life?  If I’ll care for him and our children?  If I can get along with people and love God?
  • Where do you get off deciding what weight women should be?  When do you get to tell someone what beautiful looks like or is?  Some of you say it’s because you care (and maybe you do), but when you say things like, “You’re not going to find a husband unless you become skinny,” it steps away from caring.
  • When did this Western culture influence the amazing standards that you used to have in your country, not too long ago.  Yes, we lost Marilyn Monroe here, but you still have tons of Malayalee actressses who are not skinny-minnies.  Kavya (here, or here), Gopika, Jayabharathi, even Bhama
  • Being skinny doesn’t make your life not suck.  I was whatever definition of skinny you can come up with, and life still sucked.  I am the weight I am now, and am secure and happy.

I can always be skinny and loved, but I’d much rather be fat and loved.  When he knows my heart, knows my intentions, knows my mind.  When he sees me and thinks she’s gorgeous, whether I’m wearing a size 6 or a size 22.  When he thanks me because he knows I try to make him smile every day and he sees my eyes sparkle blinding him to everything else.  When he tells me that he knows one day his friends will have to realize they married someone beyond the color of their skin or the weighing scale, and then they’ll be in trouble, but he knows his treasure. 

[In the beginning J struggled with this as well.  His family mentioned that I could afford to lose a few pounds and he agreed, and I’m sure you would have loved to have been a fly on the phoneline for that conversation… But somewhere in the past year, there has been a shift.  He is now the “him” I describe and I am thankful.]

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