I have never ever in my life been skinny or mildly average in size. Always slightly above in the weighing scale. The digits never fail to rise. 

Of course I have the usual diet, exercise, calorie-counting and body positive advice that keeps getting shoved in my face every now and then. You can do it! You are beautiful the way you are! Thick girls are real girls! 

I don’t really know how I feel about that. You do you, as long as you feel good. I believe that. But I don’t seem to believe in that for myself. 

I hate weighing scales. Besides mandatory NAPFA height and weight back in school, I will never go near one. It is literally ignorance in bliss. The numbers cause anxiety. I hate it. Because I am never below a 50. And when you weigh, it is pretty much the lesser the better. 

For the last show, I finally had the guts to wear a torso revealing top with my tiedyed pants. I felt really good about myself. I have also been tackling the weather by being less insecure about my arms and wearing sleeveless tops out. 

For someone that actually doesn’t mind getting naked for other things, I am pretty damn self-conscious. 

Then two days later, I stood on top of the weighing scale, saw the number and felt like a complete fool. 

It is almost pathetic how just that number in itself can change my entire perspective about my body. 

I used to be adverse to mirrors too. Never had a full length mirror until recently. Even now, I avoid it when I feel really horrible about myself. 

But the thing is, my weight fluctuates. Whether I like it or not. I work out, perspire, put in time to do routines and then I lose a bit of weight. Then I get busy trying to earn money, my routine goes down the drain and I slowly put the weight back on. Not drastically but enough for the number to spring back up. 

But somehow, knowing this is how my body is, I am still not wise enough to be happy and move on. I am still always comparing, looking around, reprimanding myself and feeling super shit on bad days. 

So how much do I fight it? Should I fight it? Lose sleep trying to always work out everyday while committing to the rest of my life? Am I willing to be miserable diet-wise to look a certain way? Why am I so bothered by looking a certain way? Sometimes it is not all work, because some people are just born skinny. I am just not one of them. 

I don’t even know what all this is about. Just wanted to type it all out. Get it out of my brain. Until the next time I engage in this conversation with myself. 


Describe a Typical Day. 

Eyes open 

Thinking with eyes open 

Alarm sounds 

Shut it off 

Lie on your back

Listen to the fan blowing 

Get up only after half an hour

Freshen up change fill water bottle 

Leave home lock door let habit lead 

Walk stop walk walk walk walk 

Wait at the bus stop 10minutes away

Board bus 

Plug in music to shut out

Train squeeze hug myself keep feet together try to breathe no physical contact small space 

Tap out and walk 

Straighten back and try to walk in a relaxed manner 

Steady rhythm 

Slow down and up the hill 

Walk through gates 

– day stops – 

Leave gates 

Walk back the way I came

New feelings same many things 

Go home 

Shower and freshen up 

Desk work and concentrate on distractions

Try to sleep 

Eyes closed

Thinking with closed eyes

26th September. 

It’s been a while now, working and studying at the same time. Most nights I stay up to work on something – art commissions, tuition or transcription. Even though I never saw me doing these things ever, I enjoy working actually. 

It’s never been mundane, perhaps the variety and the difference everyday helps. It is also helpful that I focus well and do my work fast. I am also learning random bits of knowledge and gaining inspiration in unexpected places. 

And of course, working means I am a step closer to gaining financial independence and I am not going to fall flat on my face once school’s out. 

But last night, while transcribing a video, perhaps 10 minutes in, I started having the impulse to cry. My eyes were filling up and my throat was drying up. 

I wasn’t sure what came over me then. But now, half a day after with a sleepless night behind me, I know clearly. 

How is it possible I feel more fulfilled working and doing jobs outside of my ideal field, rather than school? Pursuing an education I worked hard for hasn’t given me any sort of fulfillment recently, or any sense of worth. I have been miserable. Things don’t add up – what’s said and what’s given, and here I am not sure what I am doing anymore. 

Can I really hang on for another three months? 

It’s short literally. If you count the days and live hour by hour. But when emotions overwhelm you and this overpowering sense of dread swallows your entire heart, your mind numbing itself and eyes seeing but trying hard not to let everything define who I am in this phase of my life, it is close to impossible.

Maybe I have always been wrong. And nothing is worth this. 


Where do you stand 

Loving both men and women in 

Equal measure for their similarities 

Skeleton skin sins

Differences only in curves gender politics and bias

When you belong to neither straight nor 

Days of being closeted and no bravery story

Or do you just sit in an isolated yellow box 

Pretending to disappear with every puff 

Smoke snaking up into the sky 

Like wishes unmade and justifications you should have said 

Before going back into bed to dream the same dreams again

Week Two. 

It’s been two weeks of growing my hair out. I haven’t touched the shaver since then. Most days, I even forget how I look like. Until strangers stare at me when I take my cap off or am walking around without anything covering my head. 

Funny how gender stereotypes would like to tell you how to even keep your hair. And funny how complete strangers seem to care about how you should look even more than people that actually matter. 

I still remember wearing sports bras and baggy shirts into public toilets when I was completely bald. Stares would happen when I walk in – first on my lack of long luscious locks and then the fact that I have a sports bra on to flatten my chest. 

Can I just say it is weird that one has to make up for the other to prove your femininity? 

Anyway, nobody would crowd around me when I join the queue for the washroom. Nobody would use the sinks next to me to wash their hands. They would rather wait for the other sinks to be available than be next to me. 

Can you imagine if you have to go through this everytime you are in a public space? Or even in the washroom? 

How mundane the chores, but so disturbing in nature. And what it reflects about ingrained biasness and judgments. We all just try to shape our worldview according to our ideals and wants. That’s why violence happens even though we already know how inherently wrong it is.

And violence exists in all forms, not just the physical bloody types. 

Maybe I am just unattached to my hair and how I look, so I am less affected. Which is great. Instead I am just curious and with my hair growing out, perhaps I can witness the behavioral changes that occur with me ingraining myself back into the “normal” beauty standards or how a person with a vagina should look like. 

Last Monday of September. 

I am in a daze. Waking up and sleeping has become a seamless cycle. Some days I cannot tell these cycles apart. I wake in the day world and I sleep only to enter day once again. Sleep has become unfamiliar to me, especially the ones free of lucid-dreaming and active nightmares. Is sleep still restful if the mind is afraid of sinking into nothingness? I have a lot of questions, but few I actually want answers to. Sorry means nothing anymore and my time spent in different places are starting to look more and more like time wasted. If I am only surviving  in all aspects of my life, will I still feel I have nothing to lose? Or is time also a precious avenue to consider? If so, then aren’t we all just losing? I get out of my room and look around the empty house. Everyone’s left. Just me now. In the day the quietness is lovely, even. But in the night, I hate venturing even to the washroom. The dark seems to swallow everything and one day maybe it will take me too. I engage in my daily routine of freshening up and leave the house. Walking under the sun to the bus stop. Sometimes the only thing that reminds me I am really alive is how my body perspires under heat. Reminder that my body is still functioning with this ghost of a brain. I walk walk walk walk walk. Board the bus and take the seat right at the back. Alone and earphones in. Living in my mind for a while more before I have to be social with a lot of living beings I have no energy to care for anymore. The questions come back. My pulse is still going. I picture an accident in my mind. Maybe a car will swerve out of nowhere against this bus. What is that like? No, no, no. I can’t risk that. I doubt I have insurance. Anyway, I have hope because on better days I still fear premature death. 

Or am I just fear? 

I am in a daze.