The first memory I have of my appearance is from when I was 5 or 6 years old, or younger.
I was wearing a bathing suit and standing at the entrance of the club’s gymnasium, refusing to enter.
“You’ll get fat. It’s up to you,” my mother told me.
Since that day, I’ve felt fat.
I still feel fat.
I remember I got so mad that day, but afterwards, I got used to it.
Fat, flabby, a whale, etc.
And I kept seeing myself that way.
Even now, I stand before you feeling like I’m still that little girl.
Standing at the door of the gymnasium, not wanting to enter, with my mother telling me:
“Stay like this, don’t go in. You’ll get fat”