Warning: Extreme superficial post coming up. You have been warned.
Okay, I'll try to inject a little modicum into my points, but let's begin.
Someone called me fat.
The premise cannot be any simpler than that. No one has ever called me fat ever. I have myself, but as always I should have the prerogative to do so, so it doesn't count. It wasn't a close friend, it wasn't family, it was the toughest critic: a stranger, a person with no need to protect your own self-esteem and body image.
Yes, I don't have the body. Yes, I have an awkward head size to body size ratio. Yes, I am trying my hardest to not only be externally fit, but healthy as a whole, despite the many bounce moments. Do I really have to go back to that calorie counting self I was during my Psychology of Eating class, or a fitness freak who calls the gym his third home (after his workplace and his real home, that is)?
Maybe now only do I truly understand the pain of a woman, who tries to conform to the standards of beauty because 'men wants it'. Yes, the constructs are two worlds apart, but I can see how being superficial is almost second nature, that we are as primal as we get despite being the most intelligent life-form on earth.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. You better watch out.
In future-spect, if I do get there, what does it actually mean? Who would I have become? It's strange how our shallowest parts run the deepest. Happy Saturday, go wild as I tame the beast within.
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