“you? fat? you never get fat!”
that’s what they always tell me. and it was true. was being the operative word. around this time last year, i visited the philippines and on my way back to germany, i brought my old jeans and skirts with me. these were clothes i used to wear not just pre-pregnancy, but even pre-wedding. yes, i was so skinny, i was back to the size i was when i was all stressed out with the wedding preparations. should have made me elated, but i hated it. i wanted to gain weight.
through unhealthy means, it took me a couple of months to gain some flesh. and then some. and then some more. add to that a work-at-home routine that requires me to sit in front of the pc for longer periods, trips to the philippines at christmastime, and then another before i even had the chance to burn the flab, plus an ample serving of stress. i’ve ballooned two sizes in a span of a year. and i hate it.
i hate it that most of my clothes don’t fit anymore. and in those that do, i look like a sack of potatoes. i hate having aches and pains because i’m not moving enough. i hate being tired. i hate it that my thighs rub each other when i walk. i hate it that i have to catch my breath after a dance performance. and i hate looking at pretty summer clothes knowing that i won’t look pretty at all in them. i hate envying other women and their flat abs. and most of all, i hate the prospect of summer: bikini-time. arrrgh.