I'm beautiful and so are you.
Written on
Shopping with girlfriends or at the hairdressers’,
Flipping through magazines as I get my hair done
Page after page of glossy perfection
Sensuous curves and caramel skin so soft,
Image after image
Mocking me, calling me names
One places me in the ‘before’ selling distant dreams of a beautiful ‘after’
Dreams contained in big bottles and labelled lotions,
My skin needs lightening, body some tightening or,
they reveal, I face a future so bleak-
Men’s rejection, collapsing careers and eventual dejection
I can’t look at the mirror no more
That image is not me
It’s an ugly monster I’ve created,
So done with this,
Now time to change
Throw out all Chips and chocolates,
The cheese in my spaghetti, sugar in my tea
Push out carbs too-out you go potatoes
My body is in my hands and I am its sculptor
Carving those curves, perfecting that pout
I feel good - I must be beautiful now!
A glance at the magazines- a broken heart
The images look thinner,
Eyes brighter, lips fuller
Skin flawless with that ever present glow
My shame burns me
Why can’t I be like them?
I sit at the table
Boiled vegetables on my plate
Stuff myself and then run to the toilet
A finger down my throat
Out comes it all
Flush*
Some calories down the drain!
An evolving competition
Me and those calculating calories till death do us apart
Tiredness treads in now
But that’s a good sign!
I must be on my way
Hopes high I head to my ally
Mirror Mirror on the wall- who’s the thinnest of them all?’
no lies, hidden truths no more
Deep breath, eyes open and I see
A whale
A big ugly whale
Frustration. Anger.
If perfection eludes me,
I must step up my game.
Pit stop and I pick up some pills
Now guaranteed a fine future ahead
I take them- 1,2,3 at a time
Day after day, week after week,
My body now starved, some pills popped,
I feel different. My body’s not mine,
Instead a dying corpse
A sculptor’s worst nightmare
Her masterpiece shattering in her own hands.
In my race to perfection, I’d forgotten
That perfection, didn’t exist
Not in this world.
I wasn’t the lie, it was the image
Starved models make up caked,
Living lies,
Photo-shoots then photoshopped
Altered curves and concealed spots
Plastic smiles then painted on
Creating a fantasy; destroying million others
And mine.
So I take a step back and let my body speak for itself
It tells me to stop, this torture unbearable,
And look within
While my body starved, my soul did too
In the pursuit of perfection, I’d lost not one but two
The trials were testing and it took me some time
But I turned to the one who is perfect and He sorted it out
Cracks mended and tears stitched
I’ve prayed and the answer was lucid
To look beyond the body and go for the soul
This I shall polish and let shine for the world
The Creator created me this way and so it shall remain
I’m beautiful and so are you.
Note: it was very tempting to put up a flattering photo. But that defeats the purpose of this altogether. This was taken just before I reached my heaviest. I am also quite unfashionable here. (The bag looks horrid) But I want to get over this need to put out only my best, filtered, photos, taken from the angle which makes me look thinnest. I reclaim my body, with all its curves and turns and fur (yes, all mammals have hair on their body!) It’s time we stop comparing ourselves with others. There is no one normal. There are just normals
Nazreen Fazal
Writer, Wife, Mother, Indian, Muslim. So many labels, one me. I write, I rant, I ramble in order to make sense of everything happening around. Join me on this journey as I share snippets of my life, going about work, my parenting wins and fails, and the murky waters that's long distance marriage.
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