Posts tagged with "weight"

frame of mine

I’ve made peace with this body. It hasn’t been an easy peace to come by, as I seem to get constant reminders about the diminutive size of my stature. Most recently, I met an older Chinese woman who admitted that she thought I looked sick and weak only after she discovered I had colitis. It was as if she thought colitis caused some kind of malnutrition that stunted my growth, and she didn’t want to bring up the fact that I was this size because it would have been too embarrassing unless it was caused by a medical condition.

Asian male self portrait

 

I’ve been dealing with all kinds of similar comments since I was a kid, so when a girlfriend would say that she liked a particular part or portion of my body, I always thought they were just blinded by love. Eventually I realized that if they could come to love this body, then I could too. It will never look right in anything but slim-fit extra smalls from Mexx. It will never be good enough for my parents. But it will always be who I am, and I’ve learned to accept that.

On Being 5'4" and Weighing 115 lbs

  • Her: Does it bother you that I’m taller?
  • Me: Hah. No.
  • Me: I never understood why a guy would feel that way.
  • Her: Good good.
  • Me: Usually it bothers girls that I’m shorter.
  • Her: I don’t care at all.
  • Her: Do you care that I probably weigh more than you as well?
  • Me: Hahahahh, everyone weighs more than me.
  • Me: Trust me.
  • Her: Hahah, I’m just saying!!!
  • Me: I’m super light.
  • Me: Why, does it normally bother other guys if you’re heavier?
  • Her: Yeah for sure, I mean I don’t care one way or another…its their problem not mine, they’re the ones missing out.
  • Me: Well if I only dated girls who were lighter than me, I couldn’t date anyone older than 14.

The Weight Issue

With a tone of genuine concern, as if I was being consumed by some disease, Abdallah told me he noticed I was getting thinner. Perhaps this is true. I was recovering from an episode of IBS, and controlling my food intake. Maybe its my sets of narrow, flared pants I’ve been wearing lately on Julie’s suggestion1.

Louise tells people I don’t eat a lot, which is true only when we’re out 2, and is also the only time she’s seen me eat. It makes me even more ill at ease when I’m already feeling unattractive, as if it was my fault and I wasn’t doing enough about it. Others will comment about the size of my waist, or make a passing remark about how they wish they had my metabolism.

I try to take it all in stride, but it’s not easy when the subject is constantly brought up.

According to my doctor, I’m average weight — the average being a range, with me being near the bottom. I know this, but it doesn’t make it easier. Bronwen once told me that I have a weight issue, and after thinking about it for a while, I realized that it was true. Even though it’s something I can joke about, it’s still a source of self-consciousness, leading back to memories of my parents telling me that no one will love me if I’m this size forever.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get over it.

  1. Her theory is that baggy pants do nothing to hide thin limbs and make skinny people look even skinnier. []
  2. Usually because I don’t like to be too full when I’m out. []

Lessons From a Childhood of Abuse

I often explain to people that Karaoke to the Chinese is like drinking to the British. We don’t pour pints at our parties, we sing. It’s part of the culture. The Chinese-Canadian dream is a Toyota in every driveway and a Karaoke machine in every house.

My dad was no exception. Like all his hobbies, he took Karaoke seriously. He had singing lessons from a famous teacher. Sometimes, he would record himself and listen to the tapes to analyze his singing when driving me to school. We would never talk on those hour-long rides, I would only hear him singing, sometimes along with his recorded voice, sometimes practicing the parts that he didn’t have quite right.

When I was young, about seven, I would sing one of the English songs from his collection. I couldn’t tell you why. Karaoke didn’t particularly interest me. Maybe it was a way for me to be a part of his life. He had nothing to do with me otherwise.

Continue reading “Lessons From a Childhood of Abuse”…

Kilted Groomsmen

“You’re the perfect woman.”

She realizes this as she writes down my chest, waist, and hip size, then asks rhetorically, “What are the typically ideal measurements?”.

Aaron and I could only look at each other, as we had no idea.

“36–26–36.”

“Wow, so you’re a really hot chick!”, says Aaron.

Hi-LAR-ious. Years of confidence I’ve gained, girlfriends convincing me that I’m not too skinny, gone.

Reduced to a male fantasy, I’m my own dream girl.

“And how much do you weigh?”

“(Pause)…113”.

“After he’s had a buffet”, Aaron adds. My friend the comedian. To console me, he says, “It’s okay. Remember, you’ll be paired up with Jenn in the party”.

My counterpart. The tiniest girl I know.

Thumbnail: Aaron's wedding band

In the last few years I’ve been to weddings for other friends, but Aaron’s the first out of my core group to get married (although Pat got engaged before him). To pay tribute to his culture, he wants the wedding to be a bit Scottish — something his Popa is especially pleased about.

As a groomsman, I’ll be wearing a kilt. As a Chinese guy, I’ll be feeling a little out-of-place.

Thumbnail: Matching the sporran and kilt colours
Thumbnail: Comparing sporrans
Thumbnail: Ghillie Brogues
Thumbnail: Ghillie Brogues

He asked me to give him a hand in shopping for the regalia. What a culture shock. Looking through catalogues of claidheamh, sporrans, Sgian Dubhs, Ghillies Brogues. I can’t even pronounce the names. My tongue wasn’t made for these kinds of inflections.

“It’ll take you guys longer to get dressed than the bride”.

Before we leave I remember to ask, “Can we go traditional?”, with Aaron adding, “My Popa would be pretty upset if we didn’t”.

Traditional. The euphemism for commando. The euphemism for bear-ass naked.

“Don’t worry, everything is dry-cleaned”, say the woman reassuringly.

It’s only after we leave that I realize everything but the shirt is made of wool.

I’ll be scratching my balls through the whole service.