My story with weight is a little long.
It started when I was a child in elementary school.
I was fatter than my friends who were the same age as me.
They called me “fatty.”
It was a mark of shame that will always stay with me.
I didn’t know how to get rid of it.

I was born with an extreme case of dowager's hump,
And it looks very pronounced when I wear certain clothes.
When I was a child,
My mother tried to get it fixed,
But that meant that I had to wear a huge back brace all the time.
body image, bullying, beauty standards

I’m very handsome,
Thank God.
But I was very thin as a teenager,
Which made my facial features look big,
Especially my lips.

I used to braid my kinky hair in school.
It was a bit poofy at the top.
The girls at school would pull my hair and undo my braid.
My hair would get frizzy and I wouldn’t know how to tie it.
The teachers would yell at me to tie my hair.
body image, hair, beauty standards, bullying

I’m a boy and I’ve had gynecomastia (enlarged male breasts) ever since I was young.
I used to tell myself that it’s not a big deal,
And that it’s only a matter of years and it will go away.
Unfortunately, this ruined my teenage years.
body image, bullying, masculinity

Every single day,
People passing me by in the street,
Shout insults at me:
“Blackie!”
“Shikabala!”
“Why’s it dark all of the sudden?”
“Disgusting!”

I’m thin,
I don’t have any muscles or abs.
I was okay with that, to an extent, in the beginning,
Because my body hadn’t fully developed yet,
Or basically, because I hadn’t decided to go the gym yet.
body image, bullying, masculinity

My hair changed as I got older. It became frizzy and messy.
My mom always tied it back for me.
It made me cry because I wanted to let my hair down like the other girls.
I didn’t like receiving comments and getting weird looks from my relatives.
“Why is your hair so messy?”
“Brush your hair.”
And other comments I still remember until this day.
body image, hair, bullying, beauty standards

I’ve always been fat,
And they don’t let me forget that at home.
They tell me I need to stop eating.
My father always embarrasses me during gatherings,
Especially when we’re visiting friends or relatives.
He’d give me a disapproving look if I take an extra serving of food.

My paternal grandmother always had a brush,
And loads of hair products ready with her to tame my “unruly”, unkempt hair.
She would sit me down on my knees,
pull at my hair painfully until it got detangled,
then she would apply a lot of hair cream,
pull my hair back into a bun or braid it,
Until the curls were no longer visible.