Today I stumbled upon this lovely lady’s long fingers while getting my daily fix of Kenny Sia. I like her entries, she’s got such a natural flair for writing, and boy oh boy, what a babe. Such long, slim, limbs…

I envy people who are naturally slim, even more so if they are tall. Even more so if they are slim, tall and look divine without makeup. Even more so if they are slim, tall, beautiful, and gift wrapped with attitude and personality.

Sometimes, I wonder if slim people take for granted how wonderful it is to be slim.

I’ve battled bathroom scales ever since I left high school. From a moderate 51kg 16 year old, I morphed into a stranded beach whale at 72kgs by the time I turned 22. Since then, I’ve been on the Cambridge diet, the low-fat diet, the Atkins diet, the South Beach Diet, the fucking-don’t-eat-anything diet. You name it, I’ve dieted it.

In 2003, I achieve what many, including myself, thought impossible; I got down to 52 by making dieting my religion, and exercising my creed. By leading a life, which was, in no way normal - absolutely no sugar, no rice, no noodles, no potatoes, no fat, no diary, no fast food, no supper, no fruits, no fried food. I worked out till the point of exhaustion, nothing less than 2 hours a day, everyday. But still, I did it! I was fifty-whoopy-doooo-two.

Unfortunately, this dieter’s story didn’t have a Christy Chung ending.

Like every person not born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth, I started climbing the corporate ladder, and so did my scales. The two equations below basically sum it up:

Equation 1)
More Money = More Work = Less Time = Less Exercise = Weight Gain

Equations 2)
More Money = More Work = More Stress = More Alcohol + Chocolate = Weight Gain

Now at 58kg, I feel the fear.

If you’ve never been fat, then semi-slim again, you will never know the extent of how superficial people can be. You’ll never know the embarrassment of a physician telling you that the reason you have piles is because you’re probably too fat. You never know how belittling it feels when someone tell another “You’re mama’s so fat” joke. You’ll never know what it feels like when a sales girl tells you that they don’t have a larger size because the black pants (always chose black when you’re fat, it acts as a camouflage) you have on, which is too tight, is XL, the largest size they carry.

I swear, there is no way in hell, I will ever be fat again (nullified once I am above 50 years of age or have no more intentions of being naked in front of another living soul). I want to be a slinky, not a chunky chink (hence the blog title). I may no be there yet, but that’s where I am headed. This blog shall be the testament of my humps, bumps, and blue-blacks bruises, along the way. Pray for me Linda, I’d like your legs please.

Update: View Linda's very thoughtful reply to this.