I look at my old clothes—
which I wore only a handful of times—
And I feel frustrated.
I try them all on.
I squeeze my new chubby body into them,
But to no avail.
It’s an attempt to prove I still fit into them.
Fine, I just want to fit into any of them at least,
So my mind could be at ease.

I start to feel hot.
I sweat profusely.
I’m out of breath.
I sit on the edge of the bed,
And recall four years ago,
When I cried my heart out because I gained two kilos in two days,
And I didn’t know why.
I worked out endlessly,
and went on diets,
So I would lose weight.

I remember sitting in front of the mirror,
And feeling fat,
Even though I lost 20 kilos.
I don’t want to read that number again on the scale.
I want to stick to 50 kilos.

Why this number exactly?
Maybe because my mother had the habit of weighing herself frequently,
And bragging about her fit body when she was my age.
She comments about how we have similar weight,
And I freak out,
Because she’s in her fifties,
And I’m 23.

I don’t want to be the “fat” one in the family.
Perhaps because my father once called me a “fat cow,”
And I was only 62 kilos at the time.
I don’t want to be the fattest one in this family.
The idea kills me.

I remember once at our summer house,
I was crying during breakfast
because I gained two kilos.
We would be at the beach during sunset,
Or in the water.
And I would keep obsessively repeat the phrase,
“Soon, I will weigh 70 kilos.”

I went on long walks along the beach alone,
I had all these gloomy thoughts.
I’ll stay fat forever,
I’m not pretty,
I am ugly.
I went back to the house,
And decided to do some zumba exercises,
And get out of vacation mode.
Fat women like me don’t go on vacation.
We have to exercise,
And eat healthy every day.
I go back,
I put on some loud music.
I start moving my body in front of my siblings.
I try to encourage them to work out with me.
I’m met with disapproved looks and mockery.
But when I became conscious of my bouncing boobs,
I stopped everything,
And hid in the bathroom.

Ever since my breasts have grown bigger after I got married,
I get these horrible thoughts,
If only I could chop it off with a knife,
And get rid of it.
I am haunted by this dark thought,
About how women with breast cancer,
Must be relieved of getting rid of their cancerous breasts.
I wish I could get rid of mine like they do and find peace.

I got used to wearing uncomfortable bras ever since I hit puberty;
Ones that would make my breasts look smaller.
My breasts are too big,
I have to hide them.
As I got older, I started wearing two bras on top of each other,
to make them appear smaller and more flat.
They must not show.

I sit now on the edge of my bed.
I remember my husband’s words
About how I shouldn’t be ashamed of my body,
It’s a woman's body, afterall.
Why am I trying to hide my breasts?
This is how they are.
“You’re not fat.
How could you think so?” he’d tell me.
He assures me that he’s not giving me a false compliment.
I tell myself that my old clothes no longer fit,
Because I’m more of a woman now.
My breasts have grown bigger with age,
Because of all the hormonal changes,
And because I’m a mother.
The same goes for my waist.
I should celebrate this,
And dress with pride.

I reached 70 kilos two years ago.
As I had feared 4 years ago.
I used to cry over it,
And try to not think about it,
But I didn’t succeed.
I realized that my body wants to look like this,
And I can’t run away from it now.
Perhaps my body wants me to cut it some slack,
after so many years of being suppressed, disciplined, and pressured.
It wants me to stop trying to control everything.
It wants to grow surrounded by love, care, peace, and freedom.

I sit now folding my old clothes.
I should donate them to someone who needs them,
And stop holding on to them.