When my little sisters and I form a reading club, splayed across my room, or the rumpus, heads stuck in books under the golden hues of the lamp. The sky, because: People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. Being stuck in traffic with Panda. Singing like crazy to whatever song she has playing - songs I wouldn't listen to on my own, just with songs. Me singing badly, her trying to sing badly, but really, she always sounds lovely. The way she squeals when there are trucks in the vicinity, and contemplates whether or not to give someone room to overtake. Baking. Sugar. My older sister and I sharing clothes. We're sort of comfortable now. She has the best taste in the universe. No, I will never wear makeup like she does. Yes, I am a little bit skeptical about some of her clothes. But I know they always look good on her, and while I won't wear everything of hers, or look nearly as good, there's still something in it for me. My Kiki, and her patience.That cat. She tolerates so much. The way my dad gets so excited when he buys us something. Something as simple as mangoes has him calling us from our rooms, and regardless of whether we like it or not, or we're hungry or not, you have to indulge him, for the enthusiasm alone. The way Star and I just fit. No matter that we're in completely different courses and we don't see each other nearly as much - we still have an appreciation for similar things, and our minds are still on the same wavelengths. It's real friendship, solid, unbreakable. Public transport. Buses and trains, to university, to placement, to the city, to meet friends. Everyflippingwhere. With or without music, with or without company. Long or short. Even the wait. I love it all. Hugging my mum. The way she always exhibits annoyance - flicking me away, squirming, making grumpy noises. It's adorable. Castro, my whale. Yes, named after good ol' Fidel. Previously known as Whaley, before Jazz gave him to me. What kind of name is that? You may as well call me Girly. Anywho, he's a great reading buddy. Sri Lanka. I know that within the family, people don't take that seriously from me. To them, my love for the country isn't as important as theirs, because I wasn't born there, and I don't do Skype. I can't explain it to them. I won't. But I love that country, so very deep down, it aches. I miss my family, I miss the green. Walking. Bike riding. Just moving, especially outside. Hard work. Anything that gets my muscles straining after a while, and just that awesome feeling you get after you tire yourself out. Books. It seems like they're one of the few constants in my life. Of course there are intervals where I may not be reading one. Of course there are times where I'm struggling to find the time. But I always come back to them. Cliche, yes, but they offer escape, and adventures I can never have. I guess our relationship is a little bit bittersweet.
I'm pretty sure I first... well, I only ever, read this word in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. At the time it was just a quirky way of writing the other version of the word, but it has since evolved in my mind. I've decided this word, 'phat', refers to the special kind of phat that girls talk about. Although you wouldn't realise it, it being homophonous, it's actually what girls say when they say 'Do you think I'm phat?' It's not about real solid, adipose-tissue fat, in excess, or obesity. It's the kind of phat that you see when you look in the mirror and you suck in your tummy but you can't make that slightly ginormously convex curve look a leetle concave. It's that feeling of frumpy, dumpy, heavy, bloatedness. It's a little real and mostly imaginary. It's the reason why you don't eat your whole meal, or skip one here or there. It's why you can't always walk out of the changing room to model the outfit for your friends. And although you know, you know, that beauty isn't a single standard, that everyoneisprettyintheirownway, why is it that the skinniest girls always seem to look the best? If they can be that thin, why can't you? The other day, after studying for some of our final exams, my uni friends - Jazz and Panda - and I decided to go for our traditional drink at Ocha. On the way out, Jazz asked us, simply: 'Hey, you guys would tell me if I was phat, right?' And as sort-of surprised as we were, Panda and I agreed in that vague kind of way. When we were paying for parking, on our way out, Jazz threw out her drink. "Wait, did you finish that?" I asked, horrified. "You didn't, did you?" I just can't do that. Like, no matter how sick I am, I always finish food. It's just... It's a rule. You can't do it. Kids in Africa, man. "Yep," she said, noncommittally. "You can't do that!" I can't help getting a little self-righteous and bossy about my friends. "That's a waste. Kids in Africa." "I was feeling phat,." she shrugged. And that was that. Me: stumped. How do you deal with this? I dealt with this by pretending I'm above it all. I'm a good liar, to myself. I deal with fear by pretending I'm not scared. I deal with phat by pretending I don't care. It worked for ages. I got through most of high school. A lot of people I know think I'm cool because of it. I feign nonchalance, I roll my eyes, and when my sister does her jokey 'you're phat and ugly', it bounces off. It doesn't. I calm the inside by maintaining the outside, but I know it's not real. I don't throw up in toilets, or obsess over grams and calories. I avoid scales and mirrors. I tell myself I'm covered. But I still measure myself against all my friends. I still cringe when I don't fit into my sister's clothes. And yeah, on occasion, I skip meals. Maybe a lot. And yeah, it's a major contributing factor to why can't be in photos. I just don't like seeing myself. I'm so scared of being anorexic or bulimic. All the avoiding I do is to avoid going there. But in this weird way, I'm ending up there. I read Wintergirls. What scared me, for the first time, is that I kind of related. But I didn't want to. Maybe it's not surprising, but you need to understand - I'm so sure that I've got myself covered. And yet I'm not. I like to think I'm above it all. But I'm not. Yet, what you need to realise is: you know all those 'everyone is beautiful' philosophies? Dove Beauty Sketches and all that jazz? I believe it. I believe it all. All the way down to my soul. I insist and impose this on everyone I know. This post I wrote - I meant it. And I find beauty in everyone. But why is it so hard to apply it to yourself? Ohkay, I did not start with the intention of going down this path. So let me try steer it back. When is phat actually fat? I really think I'd tell my friends if their weight was a health hazard. Thus far, alhamdulillah, none of them look like that. But let's say... say someone like Jazz. She's gorgeous, of course. But the skin over her abdomen isn't stretched taught. When she sits down, you can see a belly. Does that matter? Am I supposed to tell her that? Is the phat I'm supposed to notify her of her version, or my version? Because in my version, she's still a doll. But maybe in her version, that's exactly what she doesn't want. Are we trying to achieve a personal standard of beauty, or everyone else's version? Isn't our version shaped by everyone else, anyway? And what about me? Am I phat or not? Have you seen that picture of the stick thin girl who looks in the mirror, and her reflection is overweight or something? I live in a perpetual fear of this, of seeing a lie. But couldn't it work both ways? If it's possible to see yourself as phatter than you actually are, then couldn't you see yourself as a lot skinnier? So who's to say - despite what others say - who's to say I'm not seeing a sugarcoated version, honeyed even more with people saying what you want to hear, and maybe I really am fat. How do we get ourselves out of these rabbit holes? Please give me some food for thought. Not real food; I don't want to get phat ;) Bad joke? Ohkay. Peace in, Laila
