Rollin On a Downslide


One Small Step

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

It looked something like this …


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.







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’.






No Ants

Remember the picture by Botero of a woman lying on the grass and reading? This one is much better. No ants crawling up your leg to nestle in your pubes.

I can’t read lying on my stomach though. My head feels like it’s going to fall off. Maybe I have a particularly heavy head.