Eating Hotdogs in Instant Photobooth when Pissed Off
by amira.h.
2012
“DIE/T”
Hi guys, I’m fat. Didn’t you know this? Maybe you’ve never met me before, then. But yeah, I’m fat. I’m a fucking fatso, fat ass. I’ve been fat for most of my life, too. I remember looking back at photos of myself in primary school, trying to mark the year that I got fat. I was pretty happy with the photos from Reception, up to Year 2. I looked pretty cute in my pony tails. After that, though, I started to feel insecure and put on some fat.
Kids didn’t tease me too much for being fat; They did, however, tease me for being hairy. That fucking little bitch, Robin, on the monkey bars, pointed out that I had hairy arms and hairy legs when I was about 7 or 8. I told my mum, and she suggested I shave my legs. I’m pretty sure that sparked the beginning of my self-hate, body shame.
I was a bit of an anti-social freak. I grew up believing I would never have a boyfriend or girlfriend. I was fat and hairy, FAT AND HAIRY, GODDAMN. These are the worst things a girl kid can be. They’re still pretty much the worst things a woman can be. FAAAAATTTTTTTT & HAAAIRRRYYYYY.
I was body shamed so much by my mum, dad and their older friends and relatives. Whenever I was forced to sit with the adults, all they would talk about was diets and weight loss and looking good for Summer. I remember once, when a relative said she needed to “SLIM DOWN FOR SUMMER”, I retorted, “why do you have to slim down just for Summer? What does Summer have to do with it?” She said “well, in Summer we show our bodies more” and I just said “well you’re Muslim, why does that matter?” As a child I knew that weight loss, dieting and an unhealthy obsession with the body was repressive. I felt repressed because the only images of women that I had to uphold were ones that were always striving to be thinner, more beautiful, less hairy.
Once I locked myself in a bathroom when my mum took me to visit her friends. They were talking about going on diets and then (trying to include me in the conversation), one of the friends remarked, “we can go on a diet together, Amira” (or something to that effect). I didn’t want to go on a diet. I didn’t want my body to be a subject that adults discussed. I may have been/may be overweight, but I certainly don’t need ANYONE to tell me to go on a diet.
My dad used to own a snack bar down at Henley Beach. One night he called up and asked my siblings and I what chocolate bars he should bring home for us. When he got home, I took one of the chocolates and went back to my room, only to hear my youngest sister crying because she somehow missed out on getting one. My dad came banging on my bedroom door asking for the chocolate back. I asked him why, and he said that my sister wanted it. FAIR ENOUGH, DAD. But then to just throw in a little shame, he said “YOU DON’T NEED IT ANYWAY.” Yeah. I don’t. COS I’M A FATTY AND FAT PEOPLE SHOULD NEVER EAT CHOCOLATE AGAIN. Right.
It’s funny how we all think it is one of our basic rights to speak about another person’s body, weight, body hair and health. It’s not. It’s not your body, you have no right to speak about it. Sounds so simple. Like, I know that cigarettes do damage. There’s a fucking warning on the packet. However, it is my choice to smoke sometimes. It’s also my choice to eat a fucking hotdog whenever I like, no matter how much fat I have on my body.
This war on my body has made me so
SICK
INSECURE
ANTI-SOCIAL
I actually thought that I would be alone forever because of how I LOOKED. I’m still “alone”, but that’s by choice, and have definitely had my share of intimacy with a handful of people. I’M FAT AND I STILL HAVE (good) SEX. EVEN WHEN I’M HAIRY I STILL HAVE (good) SEX. Everything I heard as a kid was a lie. I don’t need to be thin and hairless at all. Why did my parents, my relatives, society lie to me? Why are they invested so much in my body? What do they have to gain?
SOCIETY, CORPORATIONS, INSTITUTIONS = they get my money from razors, wax, hair removal creams, diet pills, diet tea, diet milkshake powders, vitamins, psychiatrists $, psychologists $, women’s magazine $, perfume $, hair dye $, make-up $, bigger fuller plumper LASHES GIRLS $.
parents, friends, relatives = WAKE THE FUCK UP and expect to be held accountable for your words and actions.
STOP COMPLIMENTING PEOPLE WHEN THEY LOSE WEIGHT.
Why don’t you compliment me when I put on 3 kilos? It’s fucken WEIGHT, they’re fat cells that someone has shed. Why does it matter so much to you? And did they really look so much different (worse) before?
I remember Romi saying once that she and Josie thought it was great that I never commented on my weight or body. It is definitely a conscious decision. I’ve just had enough of it. I don’t want to be subjected to that crap, so why would I subject anyone else to it?
DON’T EVER, EVER TELL ME YOU LOOK OR FEEL FAT (as a negative attribute) AGAIN. And if you do say that to me, please don’t be surprised when I give you no response.
BE ACCOUNTABLE.
Don’t compare your body to someone else’s. “She is wearing that, she’s fatter than me, but I feel bad about my body so I can’t wear that, but I’m still going to try to make myself feel better by saying that she is fatter than me, and everyone on this great earth knows that skinny people are better looking, which must mean that I am better than her.” FUCK YOU, I CAN’T EVEN BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT TO ME, LIKE HONESTLY, get a fucking grip, wake up, it does not matter how fat or skinny someone is, THEY CAN WEAR WHAT THEY LIKE, HOW THEY LIKE. With a shirt tucked into their jeans, exposing their fat tummy. GET OVER IT.
BE ACCOUNTABLE FOR YOUR BODY SHAMING.
I have lots of body hair.
I have lots of fat on my body.
I have eczema on my skin.
And sometimes, to validate my feelings of being pissed off at people like you, I like to eat hotdogs and take photos of it in the instant photobooth outside Flinders Street Station.
These are my memories.