Guysssssss, I’m SO fat.
Really, I’m not. I weigh 65kgs (I may have rounded that down a little) but well, I’m average.
I’m not tiny, but I’m pretty healthy and every now and again I get whistled at by a front-toothless taxi driver, so I should be pleased.
I’m not fat, but I feel fat.
…And I don’t think its all my fault.
I remember watching Beverley Hills 90210 at primary school and Tori Spelling appeared in a beach scene. As she slow motionly jogged across the sand with her hair majestically whipping and the sun kissing her perfectly bronzed skinned a classmate spat out “wow she needs to tone up if she’s gonna run in that tiny costume”
Ok heaven knows why we were watching 90210 and more importantly why 12year old boys were shown half naked women while they should of been doing geometry. But I digress.
Tori Spelling people, Tori freaking Spelling needed to “tone up”.
If I ran on the beach would the jiggling of my NOT perfectly rounded butt make guys throw up in their mouths a little? Was I… gross? All I knew at 13 was that I was definitely no Tori Spelling, and if she needed to “tone up”? Then I needed a Unicorn and a Genie to procreate because it would take a Genie Unicorn to make me beautiful.
Not sure if I am the only one but I feel an overriding sense of nausea that a term like “poverty tourism” even exists….and that we, South Africa, fall within the top 5 destinations. Before you get excited this is not a competition worth winning.
Allow me to make this a notch more real –
How about I come to your middle class subarb with a cab, or even better a taxi (just to give it more authenticity) full of really rich people and drive them through your streets so that they can take pictures of you and your kids and your little 2 bedroom houses and your poor 5 year old Yaris’ and Polo’s. I’ll make comments like “Did you know many of these families require two incomes…just to survive.” or “In some situations children even have to share bedrooms.”
This week was a bad week. Like a bad day, but you know, times 7.
One of the reasons for the bad week was that I lost one of the most incredible women I know, My gran.
Her legacy now lives on through us.
The love of a grandmother is unconditional, unselfish, unending.
ln all of this I try to stay positive and hopeful, but also to keep my perspective broad and my problems right-sized. This is just a moment in the context of eternity.