One Small Step

Today I posted, on my Facebook wall, a picture of myself in a swimsuit.

It looked something like this …

daphneswimsuit

It’s certainly not something I’d have done a month ago, but as I am trying to stop being negative about my appearance, I thought it was time to stop just talking about fat-positivity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vaginal Kung Fu

When was the last time you shot ping pong balls out of your vagina?

Sorry that this is yet another vagina post, but I think I spent a bit too much time on Kim Anami’s Instagram. Her posts are mostly (unintentionally) crazy-funny, her hashtags even more so: #fuckfood; #thingsiliftwithmyvagina; #amazingplacestofuck … but then I visited her website … OK, still funny, but I also now think this dame is seriously batty.

vaginal-kf3

Well, can you? The likelihood is you haven’t ‘mastered this essential life skill’, especially if you’re from the West, where the women mostly have ‘numb, under-functioning vaginas’. However, if like me, you’re from South-east Asia, it’s likely you can shoot ping pong balls out of your vajayjay as easy as spitting melon seed shells.Because, as she says in the video on this page (at 01:25), in many South-east Asian countries the art of vaginal ping pong ball shooting is ‘quite a popular sport’. Yes, we do it during PE at school, at family gatherings, on Sunday afternoons in the park, etc.

Could she be taking the mickey? I would like to think so, but no, her insane expression tells me she believes what she’s saying.

Incidentally, if there’s anything that might convince me to start exercising those Kegels, it’s the first item on Anami’s list of all the things a properly functioning vagina should be able to do. Now that would be worth even forking out USD199 for an Elvie.

vaginal-kf1

 

Spa a Thought for Your Vagina

Did you know there’s a sort of Fitbit for vaginas? Yes, it’s called an Elvie: ‘your most personal trainer’. For just USD199 you too can track your pelvic floor exercises.

elvie

Put it in, hook it up to the app and work the hell out of those Kegels!

However, if you prefer something more old school, there’s what is known as a jade egg, which was apparently what the empresses and royal concubines in ancient China used to keep their vaginas fit. Basically, it’s, as its name suggests, an egg-shaped piece of jade or rose quartz. You pop it into your vagina and, through a combination of the healing, positive properties of jade and the effort taken to keep it from slipping out and rolling away down the household cleaning aisle at Tesco’s, the egg is supposed to increase ‘chi, orgasms, vaginal muscle tone, hormonal balance, and feminine energy in general’. (The quote is from the goop shop, which shouldn’t surprise you. Who else can afford USD60 for an egg that you wear in your vagina, but Gwyneth Paltrow and her groupies?)

The Elvie is also featured on goop, as is vaginal steaming, not to be confused with the kind you would achieve when preparing nasi kangkang.

By the way, I was looking at pictures of jade eggs when I came across this person who takes photos that prove how strong her vaginal muscles have become thanks to, amongst other things, jade eggs.

lifting-weights

This is not a joke. Check out her Instagram for more pics of her iron vag (she describes herself as a ‘vaginal weight lifter, OK?), plus tips on sexual health: for the guys, get a ‘rock solid cock’ by eating betroot. Who knew!

Finally, and also vagina-related, I was looking for books (fiction and non-fiction) about nuns and convents (research for my novel) and came across Sister Katherine by Tracy St. John. Here’s the synopsis:

The Earth/Kalquor War seems far away to Sister Katherine and the nuns of the convent on Europa. That changes in an instant when an enemy spyship arrives and invades the tiny moon colony.

Katherine’s world is torn apart when she learns she is to become the mate to a clan of three fierce Kalquorian men. How can she save herself or the convent’s children from their conquerors when her body, heart, and soul cries out for the blasphemous touch of her captors? How can it be that her peoples’ sworn enemy is her only chance for true salvation?

sister-katherineIt’s pretty run-off-the-mill erotica featuring one woman (in this case a nun) shared (lovingly) by several men (in this case, three hunky aliens with blue-black hair, violet eyes and two dicks each – no prizes for guessing where the second one goes), but one thing caught my attention: the use of the word ‘sleeve’ for vagina. For example, ‘Her sleeve even clutched at Simdow’s finger, as it it would pull him further inside her.’ I know, right?

 

Fat Fears

My fifty-seven-year-old sister started wearing sleeveless clothes just last year. Mind you, she has always been considered the beauty of the family and is as slim as I am fat. When I was younger I resented her looks – especially when my father, in his capacity as an official at a sporting event, insisted that she present a bouquet to the guest of honour. My mother had suggested eight-year-old chubby me, but my father said my sister (sixteen at the time) should do it because she ‘looked better’. I was furious and felt very much my fatness and grubbiness – I’ve always felt that fat children feel much dirtier than their thin friends. For a start, we are usually sweaty and hot, and often sport red, angry faces from being fat-shamed.Read More »

Fat Means Fat

I am 154cm tall (short?) and I currently weigh 75kg. For most of my adulthood I’ve been somewhere between 55 and 70kg. I recently joined a fat-positive Facebook group and posted about being heavier than I’ve ever been (apart from when I was pregnant). One of the other members commented that they were 180kg, which gave me pause. Seventy-five is nothing compared to 180 right? Well, in theory, yes, but whether you’re 55 or 80kg, 180 or 300kg, being fat is not about the weight, but about being seen as fat, by yourself and by others around you.

Being fat is about being called names, being laughed at and stared at because of your weight, your size, your shape.

Being fat is the look on people’s faces when they meet you and notice that you’re not the same shape as your three older sisters.

Being fat is being fifty years old and still feeling uncomfortable when you hear the word ‘fat’.


‘Fatty fatty bom bom,
Curi curi jagung,
Mata mata tangkap,
Kena masuk lokap.’

To this day, that rhyme makes my ears burn with shame. Naturally I heard it a lot when I was a kid. I was always referred to as ‘fatty’, even into adulthood, even by total strangers and quite openly.

(Interestingly, no one has called me ‘fatty’ in the last ten years. Perhaps I am now seen as an ‘aunty’, deserving some respect.)

Fat is just a word, but it has a whole lot of baggage. When you use it as an adjective and apply it to a woman, it becomes laden with negativity.

A fat baby is cute. A fat cat is adorable. A fat book is, at worst, a challenge. A fat woman? Ugly! Undesirable! Unwanted! And, somehow, even worse than that, ridiculous. A joke.

That is the ‘truth’ we’ve been taught and I want it to stop being the ‘truth’. I want it to stop being my ‘truth’.