Continuation from part 1.
I don’t weigh myself. I don’t believe in playing the numbers game when it comes to weight. I don’t want to be that person who obsesses about how much I weigh or how many pounds I should drop to be the ‘perfect weight’ or how many calories I should eat, burn or lose. Don’t we focus too much on numbers in our everyday life already? Can’t we not make our weight into another obsession with numbers?
In elementary school: “Who got first place in class?” Well, obviously NOT ME. Second place, a few times. First, nah. Once, and only once, I got twentieth place in class. “Fa Mulan, you are a disgrace to your family!” Or whatever the matchmaker said to Mulan when she messed up. There was no dramatic returning home and avoiding my father by hiding behind my horse or rubbing off my makeup in front of a reflective surface or singing ‘Reflection’. There was, however, a deadly silence in the car on the way home. Actually, wait, I remember coming in no. 27 in class one time. How did I get away with that?
Other life examples: “So-and-so is the reading scholar of the year, having read 200 books in the school year.” <<- bullshit but we would all clap and be like, cool. “My son got into the number one university in Australia.” “My son got 365As in his exam.” “My daughter plays 9 instruments and speaks 46 languages.” “My daughter earns $10k per month right out of college.” <<- only my dad believes this and note that the degree earned was not a special one. “My shoe size is 7.” <<- oh, wait, this doesn’t belong here.
The only time I will step on a scale is at the doctor’s office when the nurse makes you do it. Even then, I don’t look at the scale.
I am already defined by a lovely label with a negative connotation – fat. Do I really need to look at the scale and see that I’m not 120lbs then feel miserable about it because I am not the average weight of girls my age? Besides, the number on the scale doesn’t tell you things that matter like muscle mass and, well, whatever other health things that I would be more interested in.
For years, my family would egg me to step on the scale at the gym. I hated that. It was embarrassing and I couldn’t understand why they couldn’t understand my lack of need to know how many pounds I was.
After years of being ‘fat’ (as if it’s a profession), I eventually found my defense mechanism: self-deprecation. Yes to Ryan Reynolds movies and the lessons on being self-deprecating. How else could I deal with all those constant self-esteem-tearing comments while growing up? I’m not the type to run to the bathroom and cry and not like it was possible to do that in front of relatives so I just tried to laugh it off while tearing up on the inside. It’s not an entirely healthy method but it worked for me for quite some time.
Where did we leave off in part 1 again? Going to the gym before college started. Right. Okay. I started going on a regular basis since many of my classes in the first semester started late. I can’t say how much weight I lost per se but I did notice the gap behind my jeans getting bigger. Not to the point where I could be viewed by people around me as ‘thin and beautiful’ and thus celebrate the shedding of my beloved label ‘fat’. But it was enough for me.
Was it enough for other people though?