Originally written on: Mar 28, 2016
Originally published on: Words on Souls
“You gained weight! Ang taba mo ngayon,” said the woman in front of me, shifting her gaze from one end of my body to the other. Without a ready response at hand, I simply smiled, and said “Thank you.”
I abhorred family reunions, simply because of the lack of adroitness, and sensitivity of most Filipino adults. Growing up, I was constantly bombarded with comments about my ever erratic weight, ranging from “Ay, napabayaan ba yan sa kusina? (Oh, did you leave her in the kitchen?)” to “You look sick! Are you okay?” For the longest time, this was something that I had merely accepted, because from what I saw, this practice of ridiculing was a common practice in our “culture.” It took years before I realized that this practice was the reason why I found myself sitting quietly in a psychiatrist’s clinic, hovering my fingers over the scars on my left wrist, as I licked my dry, chapped lips. I was hungry. I was heartbroken, and newly single. I was alone. I was just diagnosed with clinical depression, and to be blunt, I had never felt more ugly in my entire life.
For the most part, I was starving. It didn’t matter though, because I wanted to be “beautiful.”
I was 104 pounds, with a BMI of 17.8, and officially underweight. It didn’t matter though, because then, no one could ever insult me about my weight. I needed to be skinny in order to be “beautiful”, or so I believed.
Beauty, as they say, is in the eyes of the beholder. The standard, however, which ultimately determines what is “beautiful” has changed drastically over time, but the fact remains; Beauty is a social construct that we have created, which has been restrictive since time immemorial, and has ostracized those who do not fit into the given physical qualities of the era. One of the qualities which is most used by society in order to determine how beautiful a person is, is one’s weight.
Commenting on a person’s weight often communicates a negative connotation. Whether it is the loss or gain of weight, it is often a sensitive topic, which is also often handled with extreme insensitivity. This lack of tact, and compassion has lead many, including myself, to fall further into a downward spiral. In many cases, a person can develop an eating disorder. In some extreme cases, a person can develop an eating disorder, and can fall into depression. For some, this can be enough of a motive for suicide. For me, anorexia nervosa was a poison which killed me everyday for 9 years.
Anorexia Nervosa, one out of many other eating disorders, ranks as the third most chronic illness amongst adolescents, according to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders. Almost 50% of those also suffer from clinical depression. Death rates linked to anorexia are also 12 times higher compared to any other cause of death for females. Society has created such unrealistic, and exclusive “beauty” standards, that people are willing to risk their health, and their lives, to attain it.
The statistics present a cold truth: we have allowed ourselves, and our very being, to be defined by a number on a weighing scale, or a number on a measuring tape.
We have grown accustomed to being defined, and labeled by society using these attributes and these numbers. Unfortunately, most of us blindly accept them in order to be “polite.” Although this isn’t surprising, especially for Filipinos, who are quite known for their good manners and courtesy towards people, it is also unfortunate, because we risk preying on the self-esteem of others, as well as endanger their lives, at the expense of being courteous.
This is, however, almost unconscious, as it had become extremely common in our society.
I have always been open about my battle with bullying (as a result of my “baby fats”), my eating disorder, and the depression which was catalyzed by the former. After years of battling with these things, wherein I obtained a few battle scars, I realized that my experience is something that I could use in order to empower others. I did not keep my battle scars in order to gain pity, or to seek attention (though most people believe otherwise), but rather, I kept these battle scars because I want to be a living example of a survivor who no longer believes that we can be defined by a mere number. Also, I am passionate about being part of this change. As I have mentioned above, the ridiculing of one’s weight is almost stapled into our “culture.” I am here, writing this for everyone to see, and to openly express that this is not right.
A few months ago, out of sheer exhaustion from the imminent sadness that was pooling in my chest, I wrote a poem, which I would now like to share to all of you.
It took me 9 years to finally love my body, and I want other girls to learn to love their bodies as well, regardless of their body shape.
Someday, hopefully soon, I will begin to see a society which will no longer use a person’s weight to degrade them.
Hopefully someday, body-shaming will come to an end.
Hopefully someday, we will all learn to love and accept one another, creating a culture of love encompassing all physical attributes.
Hopefully someday, we can also be kinder to ourselves.
This poem is dedicated to all of you.
Remember: change may not come in our lifetime, but the important thing is that we become a part of it, and that we hold on to what we are fighting for, because we are the future.
My Name is Not A Number
My name is not a number.
It is not the 12 pieces of nuggets from Mcdonald’s that I allowed myself to eat.
It is not the 12 dozen honey glazed donuts that that were simply too sweet.
It is not the 12 times I convinced myself that it was only a treat.
It is not the 120 other times that I lay down on the pavement with regret, and tried to get back on my feet.
It is not the 2 weeks wherein I was sent away to “get better”.
It is not the 200 times that I was shaking, and struggled to even utter a single letter.
It is not the 1 time that they pushed me down the stairs, and called me “ugly”
It is not the 100 times I just laughed, and hid the hurt whenever they called me “fatty”.
It is not the 7 days that I was under observation.
It is not the 700 times I cried, because in my stomach was a burning sensation.
It is not the 20 pounds I lost, the same time I could have sworn I was losing my sanity.
It is not the 2000 times I’ve heard that I gained too much weight, and was told that it “doesn’t look pretty”.
It is not the 30 stretch marks that have grown to bridge my hips and my stomach.
It is not the 3,000 days that it took to get my appetite back.
It is not the 28 minutes I used to spend in front of my reflection, who stared back at me.
It is not the 2,880 minutes my stomach was empty, just so that I would like what I was going to see.
It is not the 50 various slimming pills I wanted to take.
It is not the 500,000 voices screaming in my head, which almost caused me to break.
It is not the 24 inches that my waist used to be.
It is not the 240 times I begged, prayed and wished to be free.
It is not the 130 pounds that I have grown into.
It is not the 1300 times that I wanted to love myself too.
It is not the 20 pounds that I have worked so hard to regain,
But the love for myself, and my body that I have learned to retain.
It is, though, the product of God’s love, and mercy.
It is the lovechild of a blessing, from the God Almighty.
It is the name I was given,
from another’s heart and soul.
My name that is not a number,
And I will never need to be defined, tagged and identified by a number to make me whole.
