I AM FAT

But I should not love myself any less.

Everytime I read a post about another fat person being shamed on the internet, I share a bit of that feeling, and I couldn't help but cringe.

Growing up, I was never counted among the little fat kids in school. I would stand among the shortest in class, in fact. Being a short kid gave me a bit of insecurity even though I was naturally assertive and was always part of the top students in class.I have always had a curvy figure. My relatives would tease me about my butt all the time, but I always felt I was just, well, more shapely even for an undertall female. No one ever had to tell me to control my eating. I ate right and I was active.

When our guards are let down, we start believing what the environment is suggesting about our 'inadequacies'. When we start forgetting about our uniqueness, we blindly compare ourselves to other people, even against unrealistic standards that the rest of the world ascribe to as 'perfect'.

While I was in college, I started to hate my upper arms. Hardly anybody ever negatively commented about them, but I guess just realized that there was something wrong about them. My hips seemed to have become a second concern as well. I have recollections of feeling sharp pangs of self-hatred in the fitting room. Then I started to take fat-reducing supplements in the hope of controlling my weight. At barely 5 feet, 110 pounds, I was convinced that I had a weight issue. Even when I was considered underweight when I decided I wanted to be a blood donor but had to be turned down, I chose to believe that I was fat.

And I started to believe this more when a college friend teased me of being a fatty, especially after I put on 10 more pounds. The guy that I was dating in college  (He was part of a cheerleading team and was used to throwing 100-pound girls up in the air when we met), was generously affirming me of how 'hot' I was. We never argued much about anything, but our first spat was about the slice of cake I was going to help myself to after we were having lunch. My hunk of a boyfriend, who loved working out, decided his girlfriend was starting to pork out.

It's difficult to understand why I even chose to listen to those voices...why I forgot that I was smart (a Dean's Lister, a scholarship awardee, an achiever), talented (in drawing, creative writing, singing, dancing), and good-looking (hey, I know what it's like to turn down a suitor or a date). In my mind, I was fat.

At 26 years old, I was still sporting a 26-inch waistline. Short, but curvy nonetheless, I was able to get acting projects as a bit-role player. But since I found myself working in an environment of actor/actress wannabes, of 'Class A' models, mestizos/mestizas, I found more reasons to feel more utterly insecure. In fact, when I first dated this attractive Spanish-blooded Filipino guy, I was to be shamed again when his talent manager barked, "How could you have picked her as your girlfriend?"

I got married to this guy months later, but I lost our baby due to premature labor. Grief and depression seem to shut off your sensitivity to what is going on around you. There were very few things that I remember during the year that followed, but I couldn't forget that my post-baby weight prompted a lot of criticisms. People must have easily forgotten that I was pregnant once. Surrounded by insensitive relatives, I get greeted with 'Hey, you've put on some weight again!' every time we had family gatherings. And I started to hate being around these events for a while.

But then, I realize that certain people just simply do not know a thing about making appropriate small talk on these occasions. Even after I gave birth to my second baby, I would get the same greeting so often (usually from the same people) that I started to use this standard response in my most sarcastic tone, 'Fat people can always lose weight, but if you're ugly that's going to be a lot harder to change.' What I really wanted to ask was, 'Why can't we ever talk about anything else?' After all, I have a wonderful, steady job (I probably earn a lot more than you) and love having my own place (while you and your family are still staying at your mother's).

Usually, the most hurtful comments will come from the people you love the most. At 39, I was breaking up with my spouse after 12 years. My ex, who never made fun of my figure, decided that his slim 26-year old mistress was going to be the new love of his life. Just to spite me, he emailed me a psychologically abusive message and even created a fake FB profile using my name and my pictures with the most horrid and sexually inappropriate remarks.

It took a long time in realizing this, but it's when we take stock of ourselves and genuinely realize that our personality, our talents, our achievements, and our passions are more than enough reasons to love ourselves. When we have a healthy self-perception, we focus on doing the things that matter and listen to the voices that uplift us.

The change of mindset for me was slow, but progressive. Starting with a refusal to dwell on the negative, and moving forward to nourish my soul, mind, and body. I've been in and out of the gym and for me that didn't really do much for my weight, though it left me feeling more energetic and wanting more physical activities. I think having to suffer emotional trauma more than once in the last few years caused a weight drop, that it was obvious that a colleague mistook me for someone else. Now please understand that I am not going to say that trauma would be my solution.

The change of mindset, was a great start. I have more people telling me once every so often that I look like I have been losing weight. Some were curious to even ask if I was in love. I am still considerably heavy, but my regained self-confidence and enhanced dressing statements, are resulting in having people complimenting me on being sexy. Well, I've been out on a few dates in the last few months (where dressing to impress was crucial), but I have been spending time with good friends more as well. More important, I have been more and more visible at church, where I am reminded that I am loved by my Creator. So I couldn't say that the inspiration would be coming from just one source.

To every fat person who experiences ridicule everywhere you go, I hope you realize that you are more than the sum of the negative comments that people hurl at you. Whether it's your lifestyle or bad genes, your body is the only one that you have and it is your responsibility to care for it in any way possible for you to make the most of life. Shape is just an empty shell --- Health is wealth!

Don't waste time in self-pity or finding flaws and imperfections. We all have those. But don't hate those who do not know you as a person other than the labels that they use with you. Don't take revenge --- most of the people who have been insensitive towards me have their share of bad karma (trust me, I know).

Instead, realize that you are a work in progress! You alone can determine what would make you happy as a person, but I sure hope it will not be based on what's shallow or fleeting. When you reach that point of self-satisfaction, don't forget to spread that joy to others because they may be going through what you went through before. Set yourself to change, but let your passion for living be your motivation.Think of how great your selfies would be when they show that you have been going places!

Your shape should never dictate how you feel about yourself. Work on being kinder with yourself, love yourself more for the right reasons, and slowly, your figure, even the other aspects of your life, will take shape.

Count me as proof. At 42, still undertall, with stats measuring 41" 32" and 42" --- those numbers are not permanent --- I am FAT.

Fabulous. Attractive. Tempting.

Detoxing The Spirit

I do not know how long ago it was when I last attended the worship service. I was a visitor to this moderate-size congregation, and I came, along with my husband and daughter, only because I knew the pastor from way, way back when I was still in college. We were members of a different church congregation then, and he was leading the youth group.

To be honest, I did not mind coming in and leaving unnoticed to this group. I was quite relieved that no one asked for first-time visitors to stand up and be acknowledged. I wasn’t looking forward to be handed an info sheet and a welcome pack. All I wanted was to appreciate the service.

The service took place in a rented venue, a cozy little theater with a stage that could hold a musical performance. There were details of renaissance touches, wall paint that mimicked draperies and a faux entranceway to an imaginary hall. The larger-than-life neon sign of a harlequin outside the building could not have given any passerby a hint that some people actually prayed in this building on Sunday mornings.

No, the ambiance was not that of a regular church, not from its subdued lighting nor the cold draft of the centralized air conditioning. It was cold enough even for some members to welcome the pashmina shawls and styro cups of instant coffee offered by the ushers.

Right away, I connected to the theme of the theater’s interior, the way it mirrored the illusion of my life some years ago when I was a practicing, active believer. In my early teens, my social interactions involved Sunday church meetings and Bible studies, youth fellowships and summer camps, Christmas cantatas, discipleship training, even a month of foreign missions.

I could have spent the rest of my life in the mission field or being the wife of a minister, and the decision to do otherwise came from a desire to live an ordinary life. Eventually, different aspects of my life, personal or professional, excluded the spiritual. I could not even readily recall the name of the last church I was with, let alone a single name of any of its members I attended the service with.

The fellow who led the singing called out “God loves you, He loves you very much”. As I readied myself to hear more trite expressions, that was when I realized that I had estranged myself so much that I wasn’t willing to receive the basic truth of what he said.

Slowly, the gap began to close, and once more, I was getting reacquainted with The Being around which my existence could not have been bearable. I was practically anonymous here, left alone in my privacy with God. Forgiveness would be asked, an inner cleansing would need to take place, and renewal, sweet renewal, would be well on its way.

Though the songs were not familiar, I was soaking in their words. Tears were now streaming down my face, my hands were held out, surrendering, reaching out. I was awash with the urge to have the broken parts of my life fixed and to have the flame of faith once more burn.

I am what I am now, and at that moment, I was simply content to be where I was…reflecting on my life’s journeys right here in an unlikely place of worship.