My story is pretty ordinary.
It is not different from any story
About how parents and society,
Played a role in shaping a dysfunctional relationship with our bodies.

Ever since I was young,
I was told that I’m not pretty,
Because I’m fat,
And that I shouldn’t eat too much,
Because I’d get even fatter.
I was told that it was gluttonous,
And unfeminine.

Whenever I’d see my uncles,
After having not seen them for a while,
They would always comment on how I gained weight.
They’d say that it’s their duty to advise me,
Because no man would want to marry someone who is fat,
And if he married her thin,
And she got fat later on,
He’d divorce her.

They hated heavy makeup on a girl,
Or any kind of adornment that would make a girl noticeable by passersby.
There was always an incomprehensible equation,
That I could never understand.
It entailed me being beautiful,
Delicate,
Pretty,
Thin,
Well-mannered,
Docile,
And without makeup.
I didn’t know how girls could do that anyway.

Weddings were the only occasions where my uncles admired how I looked.
They liked the high heels that tortured me.
I was told that if I were thinner, they wouldn’t hurt as much.
They liked the nice clothes,
The subtle makeup,
And all that.
It was a look that wasn’t doable in everyday life.

I don’t like dressing up for weddings anymore,
Or for Eid,
Or for any kind of occasion.
I don’t like dressing up for work outings either,
Especially with my colleagues at work taking on the role of my uncles.
They compliment me whenever I look girly,
When I looked different than I usually do at work.

I remember one time,
When this prick didn’t like my opinion
On why women take a long time to get ready for a wedding.
As an ex-hijabi,
I said that it takes time to get the outfit right,
Because there are a lot of details that go into it,
That men don’t see.
It includes wearing the scarf,
Regardless of how simple it may seem.
It needs a lot of effort to find the right one,
And to make sure the colors match.
There’s also the matter of the dress and its fitting.
Whereas he thought that women needed several days before their wedding,
To remove the “grime” off their bodies.
His words insinuated that we were filthy creatures,
And that we don’t look after ourselves except for the sake of a man,
And especially on the damn wedding day.

I was convinced ever since I was in elementary school,
That I wasn’t the kind of girl who could be loved.
I wasn’t the pretty girl,
Or the person boys would have feelings for,
Not even from afar.
Nor was I the kind of girl who would notice that someone liked her,
And secretly enjoy it.

I’m almost 28 now.
I’ve neither had a successful love story,
Nor a failed one.
I’m convinced that if I were thinner,
I’d be more attractive,
And someone could actually fall in love with me.
Then we’d see whether we were compatible,
In terms of personalities and principles.

The last time I blew up at my mother,
It was because I told her that her words were hurtful.
She was upset because she felt that she needed to be careful with her words,
When giving me advice.
And because I told her that calling me “fat,”
Or telling me that I’ve become “too fat,”
Is something I already knew,
And there was no point in her pointing it out to me.
And on top of that,
She makes me feel that she pities me,
And that she needs to feel sorry for me.
This makes her think I’m getting in the way of how she’s raising me,
And that I’m limiting the space for honesty between us.

She’s a beautiful and kind woman,
But she’s unaware of the consequences of this kind of upbringing.
She believes that it’s still her duty,
To raise a person who’s 27 years old.

It wasn’t just my family.
I used to work in a horrible multinational company.
The Egyptian general manager had a Canadian passport,
And he worked at another high-end multinational company at the same time.
We rarely used to see each other,
And we only talked 3 or 4 times during the four years I worked at the company.
When he saw me one time,
The first thing he decided to ask me,
Was why I didn’t play any sports,
And that it’s good for people.
I was, of course, amazed by this creative and new proposition—
One that I never thought of those past 27 years.
It’s something I didn’t consider doing,
With the shitload of money I got,
From that shithole he managed.
Instead, I chose to squander my money on my neighbors,
Just like he surely does.
He also told me that he recently heard about the keto diet,
Through a documentary film he watched,
While flying on Emirates Airline.
I wasn't able to spit on his face of course,
And I was mad at myself for the millionth time,
For not standing up for myself.

This happened after I filed a complaint with HR,
Against a technician.
While working on-site,
He told that I was breathing heavily,
And that I gained weight,
Which wasn’t good for me.
I filed a complaint against him,
So he’d learn a lesson.
But I knew deep down,
That it wasn’t the first time someone bothered me,
Because I’m a woman,
And because they don’t think that working in a factory,
Is the most appropriate job for a woman.
I know that the environment he grew up in,
In which he had a shitty education,
Contributed to creating that kind of mentality.
But what’s the excuse,
For the hot-shot manager,
Whose daughters have just graduated college?
And who has a myriad of life experiences.

I don’t know why I tolerated working in that shitthole for four years,
Or how I put up with those people,
Whose standards were different from mine.
Looking back,
I feel it was pathetic of me,
To seek their friendship,
When all they were,
Were gross men,
Who were used to living in a patriarchal society,
And who liked to perform religiosity.

Some of them have helped me with things,
So I forgave them for their bad qualities,
And their double-standardness.
I told myself it was okay,
As long they treated me like their sister,
And didn’t give me creepy looks.
That way I could put up with them at work for a little longer,
And for the sake of my career as well.

Although I quit two months ago,
I am still processing all the things I went through.
I keep remembering things.
How did I let that happen?
How did I let those things go?
How did I think they meant well?

Right now, I see myself as a failure,
Who isn’t able to work or be productive,
Because I believe that anyone who’s fat,
Does not have control over themselves,
Which means they’re a failure.
I can’t change anything in my life.
My self-confidence,
My energy to get anything done,
Overcoming depression,
Overcoming stress,
It all came down to my weight,
I experienced that first-hand
When I lost weight a couple of times.

Aside from the twisted mindset,
That thinks that appearance, weight, and food,
Play a role in productivity,
I understand very well,
That eating right makes the body feel lighter,
And makes a person able to concentrate and accomplish more.
I don’t blame anyone,
For the episodes of overeating that I get from anxiety.
I’ll learn to take care of myself better.
But some people are still assholes,
Regardless of their good or bad intentions.