I am fat. Not really that fat actually. I just have this big belly and disturbing man boob.s My body mass index tells me that I am overweight.
My teeth have spaces. They are not properly spaced and gaps tend to describe how the seating arrangement of IV-Genesis back in my high school would look like.
Stretch marks have acquired permanent residency in my belly, arms and legs. They constantly remind me how much I have grown. In short, they shout F-A-T at me.
My chin has gained a brother back when I was breaking out from my school age. And until now, it creates this large face I see whenever my photographs are taken.
If the oil in my face can be used for cooking, I think that one whole crispy pata can be fried. Three hours after applying some amount of talc, my stubborn forehead and nose start to shine from afar.
I guess I inherited the skin of my dad. Dry. Oily. Dark spots (specially on the pits). Dandruff. Shall I say thank you, Dad?
How about my voice? I have lost count how many times I was thought of as a woman when I answer telephone calls. Soft spoken. A little bit pitchy in the way Randy Jackson would tell an American Idol contestant.
This is me now and probably, until I die.
Over the years, I have always battled that voice in my head telling me that I am no good and that I am perfectly fugly. That no one will probably fall in love with me.
I am bidding goodbye to that voice. I am letting it go. May you peacefully join 2010 and never come back in my life…