It’s time to give up trying to lose weight.
I have always found it difficult to describe myself, I’ve never had one solid answer to what I want to do or be. I wanted to be a musician, till I didn’t get into any of my preferred high schools. I wanted to be a neurosurgeon to avoid being mixed with dumb art students, I wanted to be an engineer cause I liked math and wanted the title. Eventually, it was a waste of time cause the title doesn’t come with the degree.
Regardless of my shifting identities, I’ve been fat for a long time. Or a variation of it.Big. Chubby. Jiggly. Thick or Thickums if you like to get like that.
As a younger child, I was the same size as my peers. By the time I was ten years old, I was a UK size 14/16. It could have been less to be precise, the point is I was really big for a ten-year-old. This didn’t have any memorable impact on my childhood. I played football, did my scenes in all the mummy-daddy dramas, and drank coke through my nose without flinching. Good ole days.
It was after a Sunday service Mr. Temi called me “Fatima” in the presence of my mother. She wasn’t having it, she tackled him. After that, I went to boarding school where I became the grim version of my old self.
You see, the real problem with my weight is my height. I’m 4'8 which makes me look(from what I’m told) much rounder. Comments about my height have become commonplace. “How’s gravity down there?” “You’re so close to the ground”. In moments like this, the only thing I can picture is a walking egg roll. I wouldn’t be fat if I was taller, I would be Jorja Smith.
My height isn’t all bad. In high school, I could easily miss Mr. Sunday's beating spree by running under open windows and quickly camouflaging in a crowd(of taller people). However, my most exciting adjective is fun-size.
Fun-size reminds me of a pack of ‘“Celebrations”. It means I’m a bit of everything. Boring. Cheeky. Poetic. Dim. Cosmic. Petty. Fun. Someone also called durable once, but I doubt she knew what she was talking about.
Losing weight has become a trailing resolve and the police of my body are yet to get closure on the case.
X: I thought you were trying to lose weight?!?!
Me: When did I tell you that?
X: I heard Y is on a weight loss journey. I thought you’d be doing the same.
Honestly, I don’t know what a healthy weight means. I’ve been skinny and someone still said; Wow, you’ve gained weight.
In December, a woman told me she liked my new size and I shouldn’t add. I must admit, my clothes fit better and I’m not as tired.
Nowadays, instead of perusing over how big or small or short I am, I thank my body for housing me, for keeping up, for not giving up, for doing what it does, without my asking or persuasion, unlike most things in my life.
I bought a size 8 dress today, it doesn’t fit.
I will either tell my body we have to wear it and start my nth weight loss journey, or simply, give it away.