Fat-aganda: Part 1 - On the Chubby Side

First and foremost I would like to give you a brief description of my body: I am 177cm tall. I am 53kg. I am borderline underweight, I lack muscle, and when I hunch my back over, I look sickly. My BMI is around 18. I look skinny, and I am skinny. This is how I have been for the majority of my life.

When I was younger, I was chubby. This was, for the most part, thanks to my grandma. My parents made a point of feeding me organic, local and healthy food. My grandma however, was, and continues to be, a palate pleaser. My parents had to work, so they left me with my grandma every day for the first few years of my life, before I started school. My grandma fed me copious amounts of schnitzels and fries for lunch and provided me with a jumbo croissant brimming with nutella for dessert. Her food was delicious. I never ever got tired of it, and I never ever minded my expanding waistline. I really enjoyed food.

Eventually, my mom requested that my grandma stop feeding me trans fat and refined sugar on a daily basis. She asked that she use her cooking abilities to make me some more decent food. My grandma didn't want to disappoint my salviating mouth, so she continued, as any grandmother would, attempting to make her granddaughter happy.

You would think that my problems would end once I started school, right? Wrong. They didn't end.

My grandma lived close to my elementary school, and much to my enjoyment, brought me my nutella croissant every recess. In addition to the lunch and snacks my mom prepared for me, my grandma added a little kick of tastiness to my food every day. Sometimes, I would accidently tell my mom that I consumed 2 or 3 nutella croissants at school, and my mom would become infuriated and order me to not accept them. Naturally, I would not heed her advice and I would gladly accept my grandma's treats. Whenever I was reluctant to binge on nutella my grandma would question my health, as if to imply that only ill persons could reject an overflowing nutella, butter, and flour combination. That being said, I rarely rejected.

At least this all holds true until grade 3.

In grade three, our class went on a field trip to the local outdoor pool. It was a beautiful day and everyone was elated to be splashing around and whacking each other with foam noodles. At one point during the fun, I got out of the pool to tan myself to a crisp on my towel. My friend followed.

She suggested that we buy fries at the concession stand. We did and we walked back to our towels to munch on our delicious fries.

Both of us sat up to eat. They were good fries; every grease-covered morsel seemed better than the last. We were too busy gobbling up the fries to chat, but eventually the fries disappeared. Then my friend made a remark. She pointed at my stomach and said "ha! You got a face!"

I looked down and noticed 4 uniform rolls of lard sitting atop my belly. They were perfect. I laughed along with the rest of my classmates, but I wasn't laughing actually. I contemplated the girls statement. She didn't have any fat rolls, so that gave her the right to tell me. There were fatter kids than me in the class, but did that justify my fatness?

I went home that night and opted out of dinner. The next day, my grandma brought me a croissant to school, I firmly rejected it.

The last time I had been told I was fat was when I was 4. I was in a gym with my dad and a guy told me that I looked like a "pregnant grandma" with my belly. What kinda asshole says that to a little kid? But I didn't pay him much mind.

I went on trip after trip to San Diego and carelessly and happily frolicked on the beach. My baby beer belly was of no concern, but in grade three that all changed.

Obviously, my eating habits couldn't change overnight. I still ate the occasional nutella croissant. In fact, I once hallucinated a Mr. Peanut type croissant dancing in front of me and begging me to eat him. But slowly, my eating habits changed. Very sadly, once I lost my baby beer belly, I got sucked into the vortex of reaching further. I was no longer content with being average. I wanted to be envied, moreover I wanted to deny people the right to ever negatively judge my appearance again, and being skinnier was one way to do this.

By grade 5, I was already in a whirlwind of diets and weight loss programs. I would skip meals, I would feel sick and I would obsessively measure my waist and hip circumferences, all in the name of beauty.

My parents hated it. My grandma too. After all, I was still young, and still developing; crazy deprivations like the ones I was experimenting with could mess with my growth and health. Being stubborn, I ignored everyone and stuck to my guns. One of my friends told me that I seemed to be pushing into the extremes, but not even his cautionary words could stop me. I cut carbs, I cut fat and I cut everything else.

My habits continued for a long time. In grade 9, I saw myself as very fat. I started compulsively measuring my bust, waist and hips. Soon, I stopped eating breakfast and dinner. I survived on one meal a day and continued like this until a doctor told me to consider putting on a few pounds. It was hard, but slowly, I got some weight back and felt a whole lot better. I wasn't tired or groggy - I was fine. Eventually, I got a more realistic perspective on things. I realized I wasn't fat. It took a while for my eyes to adapt, but they did. I finally understood that my physical feeling was more important than my physical appearance. That being said, I think that my physical appearance was better after I put on a few kilos...

Right now, I'm still skinny; skinnier than my peers. But I am very healthy feeling.

Now, you would think that after this unfortunate happening, I would support fat-aganda - but I don't.