I Don’t Know How to be Skinny

I don’t know how to be skinny. How strange is that? How absolutely hilariously absurd is that? I am anxious in my body. Anxious in my skin. I am overwhelmed by my utter lack of fat. I have always – and I mean always – been the chubby one. I wasn’t obese per se but I’ve always been overweight.

I’m the chubby cousin, the chubby sister, the chubby friend. I’m the one that can’t share clothes with every one else. The one no family member is ashamed to ask “when will you start dieting?” to. The best part of this is that I’ve never been overweight. I’ve always been at the very, very edge of my healthy BMI range. I was a size 6.
That being said, my mom was 110 pounds at 5’1 after giving birth to my brother. Take that in for a second. 110 pounds after giving birth! I have been plagued with the image of what I should look like based on my family’s comments and my mum’s constant criticism. I’ve grown accustomed to eating as a “Hah, fuck you” to my parents. I’ve grown accustomed to being quiet as girls talk about clothes. I’ve grown accustomed to the fat.
I’ve dreamed – I mean passionately and whole-heartedly dreamed of losing weight. I’ve imagined it – the sweet taste of size 2. The beauty of a thin toned stomach, beautiful long legs, and a nice jaw line.
And I’m finally getting smaller. I mean that. I’m really losing weight. How bloody insane is that! I’ve waited 15 years to lose weight! I guess I’m a little scarred from the fat comments as a kid – so maybe I have an excuse for being a little terrified and confused at the moment. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just a little whiny.
Either way, I’m really confused. I don’t have clothes that fit properly, I don’t know if I should wait to buy new clothes or keep swimming in the shadow of my body. I don’t know if I can eat the junk I used to or if it’ll sky rocket me back to my old weight. I don’t know what to do with this body! Is it attractive? Is it gross? Are people as confused and terrified as me?

Thoughts on: The Girl on the Train

*SPOILER warning (sort-of)*

This isn’t so much a review as a reflection. Has anyone read this book? I walked into Indigo the other day only to find out that their “Top 3 Books of 2015” were on sale for $10 each. I grabbed The Girl on the Train with not much more than the idea that it might be a good read.

To be honest, it was a little hard to get into. I stuck to it though, mainly out of pity for Rachel, and was addicted at the half-way point. It’s a quick read, it’s not hard by any means, and it is’t particularly emotional either. I wasn’t sure what to expect after having read the back cover littered with comments and reviews on the “twist-ending.” Even with this knowledge, and after having looked out for the twist from far ahead, I was entirely caught off guard! It was brilliant. It tied together so well and left Rachel in a mildly good place. I was glad to see that she didn’t end up with Scott and/or fix that friendship. It was raw. It was real.

Honestly, would I read it again? No. Would I recommend it to a friend? Definitely.

Not a hard read, not a life-changing read, but definitely a good story. Quick, suspenseful, and very, very entertaining.


I haven’t done this in a while so forgive me if I’m a little rusty. I started going to the gym recently. And by that I mean that I signed up for an annual membership about 5 months ago and actually started using it recently – so long money. After I stopped with the university-student diet, I started seeing some drastic changes on the scale. I mean, I was told that at most I’d lose 2 pounds a month. Within the first three weeks I had lost 8 pounds. Two weeks later, I was down another 7. How insane is that?

To be fair, prior to the gym-days, I was eating a steady diet of take-out, pizza, and the occasional plate of pasta (when I was feeling fancy). And of course I drank as much coke as I did water.

The thing is, I’ve never been happy with my body. Then I started going to the gym and dieting. Restricting my diet and hitting up the elliptical four times a week. Honestly, though I am shedding pounds, I’ve never been more sad with myself. When I started off I was rounding off at just about 145 pounds. My norm was 135. I am now at 130.

I don’t know what it is but going to the gym has not made me feel anything but even more disappointed in my body. I guess before the idea of reaching 130 or 125 was accompanied by the image of a very skinny body but that’s not what it is. Even though I am down a waist size, I feel none the smaller. I just have a little less stomach and a lot less breast.

Maybe it’s that it’s coming off in the wrong places, maybe it’s that I’m surrounded by beautiful bodies at the gym, maybe it’s just depression kicking in, but man, I feel a lot less beautiful and a whole lot more self-conscious. I suppose it takes time and it sucks to not see results immediately but I also feel as though I’ve become hyper-aware of my fat. I’m a lot more sensitive about the excessive lard covering every inch of my body, a lot more annoyed by my stomach, a lot more frustrated with almost every aspect of myself.

Is this a thing? Has anyone else been here? I think I’m going crazy! Maybe this is a part of the struggle of going to the gym.


Though this blog is littered with my perspective on life and my controversial opinions, I like to think that I keep it rather impersonal. I want to make sure that you, as the reader, feel as though you’re reading about the world around you instead of about me, the writer. However, I want to express some thoughts on my life and I hope that you will bare with me. This is going to be a long rant and I don’t think you’ll enjoy reading it very much so I don’t suggest that you go ahead and read it.


Ever since I was young I’ve enjoyed fashion but I’ve never had the opportunity to express it. Coming from a lower-middle class family, I’ve always found myself skimming the clearance or sales section of various middle class stores. Though there is nothing at all wrong with thrifting or shopping at department stores, I have been fortunate enough to go to specialized female clothing stores (even if those on the cheaper end). But things changed after I hit university – perhaps it’s because mom got a job, or I got a job, or my parents became slightly more lenient with how I dress, or even because I was able to better hide how I dressed outside of home.  

It’s funny, at this point you’re probably thinking that I was walking around in mini skirts and cropped tops. While that might be the occasional “night out” case, I  am simply referring to T-shirts, lace shirts, capris, and shorts. My Muslim parents are on the conservative side. Bleh. (Oh, and if you are reading along, I do apologize for how shallow and stupid I must sound. I promise this is going somewhere!)

What ever the case, things changed and my wardrobe started growing. Fast forward to  the end of first year and you’ll find little old me still in crew neck T-shirts and sweats or tights all day, ever day. And then second year hit and I had the opportunity to move away. I made it my mission to finally start dressing the way I wanted to. To become a person I wanted to be – like a middle class Blair Waldrof of sorts, someone who made it all seem effortless. Some point through the middle of the year, I found myself trying to shove a new set of clothes into my closet albeit the lack of room. I had successfully gotten enough clothes to fill my closet and chest – hallelujah, I was so happy. At the end of the year, when co-workers were passing out cards and “warm fuzzies,” I got quite a few “I love your sense of fashion!” and “Lace queen” comments. I felt such a short sense of happiness over all of that.

And I’m looking at this closet right now and thinking to myself, am I who I really want to be? Does all of that matter to me? That’s the thing. I am such a conflicted person. It’s not really about the clothes. It’s a lot deeper than that. As for the clothes, I guess a big catalyst for this train of thought is my upcoming interview for a “trendy” women’s fashion store. I wonder if I really represent what they’re looking for. Do I really embody a trendy-feminine outlook? I just don’t know. And in the grand scheme of things, does it matter? I guess I’m wondering if I am really the person I set out to be. Was this a shallow victory? 

At the end of the day, am I a person that I want to be?

I need to get my life in order. I’m pursuing so many things – with such varying levels of effort – that I feel as though I have no true sense of direction in my life. 

Where am I going? Is it worth going there at all and am I even taking the right path?


Any how, rant over. 

I need to stop thinking so much. 🙂

An Artist’s Idea

This is something only fellow bloggers will understand. Or perhaps artists of any sort. It’s that feeling of excitement when you finally get an idea for what you want to write/draw/sing about. All of a sudden a train of thought is running through your head and you’re racing to find your tool. I both love it and hate it. Anyway, gotta get my thoughts down elsewhere before they disappear!

Trigger Point

He holds the bottle of pills lightly in his hands. How did it get to this point? The world would honestly be so much better with out me. No one would miss me – not even her. When did she stop loving me? Why did I screw up again, I always do. His mind racing again, his body was physically hurting from the pain. Where are the answers?

Here’s the problem: we observe suicide from such a distance. As though we’re looking at it through a glass wall because it only happens to a certain type of individual. As though it won’t affect our families but instead “certain types.”

But none of that’s true – it could be anywhere and could affect almost anybody. Mental health is such a large issue (not to get repetitive). The one thing that teenagers should learn about is handling situations in which someone is expressing suicidal thoughts or motives. This is something that should be incorporated into our health classes in middle school. It seems unimportant but everything comes down to timing. Knowing how to respond in such situations could make all the difference.

The Speed of Your Relationship

In high school, relationships move in a strange fashion. They might start off slow – and incredibly awkward – but once the ball starts rolling, they start going at a very fast pace. Infatuation is often mistaken for love, and hormones are at an all time high. Once we leave high school however, the whole dynamic of relationships start to change. Milestones, such as “I love you” and losing your virginity, often start to carry a larger weight than they did before. In fact, society has gone as far as to set the ideal time frame for reaching these milestones. For example, “Don’t say “I love you” within the first two months.”

As you might know, I recently came into a serious relationship. Even saying it sounds bizarre to me – how do you come into a serious relationship?  How is it serious from the start?  Trust me, I’ve asked myself these very questions over and over again. We’ve surpassed numerous milestones at a questionably fast pace. From the outside looking in we must seem crazy. But we don’t feel it – it just feels right.

Coming to terms with the fact that something “just feels right” puts the whole notion of social norms into question. A relationship is a shared bond between two people. That’s not to say that there is no room for outside help. It’s when this advice turns to expectations and requirements that things get messy. As simple as it is we need to remember that a relationship is shared between two people (or more depending on how you swing). Move at the pace that feels right. Move with caution but don’t hold back in the face of society.

At least, that’s my two cents.