My body, not yours.

 

Currently blasting my "Olivia Rodrigo but only grunge" playlist, specifically the song "Pretty isn't pretty" to fuel my anger/passion while writing up this blog post. (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bXVdqBzNokzGYrPfhMIHp)

I like to think that I'm a pretty strong girl when it comes to criticism/negative comments aimed at me. I often visualise myself with an invisble force field (similar to Violet from The Incredibles), and that I'm able to just brush off things that makes me insecure and continue living my life as it is. I fear I've thought wrong about the above statements. 

I was working from home today and texting my work friend who I considered close about my weekend. Long story short and without the need for nitty-gritty details, he made a comment about my "pancake" chest. That comment stung so much because a) no one has really made a direct comment about the size of my boobs in a very very long time, and I was just taken aback about it, and b) I was really stunned and disappointed in his behaviour as even though banter was part of our daily routine, I thought he knows where the fine line is and what boundaries to not cross. 

I knew that he didn't have any intention of hurting me, but albeit my best efforts, that comment of his reduced me to tears (thank GOD I was working from home, as I do not know how to even begin explaining this to my surrounding coworkers). Memories of past snide comments come rushing back to me, and I realised that it has been a while since I cried about the same issue. I had a fleet of regret about crying as I so badly wanted to move past this issue and not let it hurt me, but here we are again. 

The worst comment and situation I've ever been is back in Malaysia, when my neighbours and I were invited to a mutual neighbour's son's wedding dinner. My mum lent me her gorgeous red dress that I've always drooled at every time she wears it as I absolutely loved the gradient of red from dark to light as it pools down the bottom of the dress. I felt so pretty wearing it, and I finally felt like a grown-up with a "proper" dinner dress. 

I was so excited and felt so proud to flaunt my pretty dress to my neighbours and other random wedding guests. However, once I got there, I was greeted by a snide laugh and scoff from a notorious aunty that is known (and avoided by others) for being super blunt and rude. She looked at me up and down, then laughed as she teased my mum: "How could you let her wear this out of the house, it accentuates her flat chest so much HAHA! She looks so flat with it on!"

I don't remember much after that, but that all I felt was shame and insecurity creeping at me until it consumed all of my past happiness of wearing that dress. I'll never forget my incident (and other unwanted comments about how flat my chest is), but in recent years, I've been trying my hardest to be proud of my small boobs and all the advantages that comes with it. 

I know of so many positive role models/celebrities with small boobs that often makes me feel better about myself and that they still look absolutely stunning regardless of the size of their boobs. The fact that I haven't met too much insensitive people as I grew older helped as well, as I don't have to be constantly reminded of the fact. 

What I can never seem to fully grasp is the need for people to point out something that you already know and might be struggling with. Sister, do you think I have no eyes of my own to see what you're seeing? If I saw someone with a face full of acne or a crooked nose, WHY ON EARTH would I point it out to them as if they don't already know that? Who am I, and what gives me the right to make judgements about your body, and to point out the obvious for the whole world to know?

I'm not blaming everyone else for my insecurities, but it sure helps my process of accepting myself if I don't get reminded it by the people around me. Them pointing it out just accentuates my fear that everyone notices my insecurity, and that it's not just blown out of proportion in my own head. 

I'm not trying to be a narcissist, but my general outlook about myself is often positive and I always feel satisfied with my own appearance and energy in general. But as Miss Olivia Rodrigo says, "pretty isn't pretty enough", and it was today (after my full-blown crying session) that I felt liberated and humbled knowing that I can never be perfect enough and that people will constantly be judging and making comments about my body (even if they don't say it out loud). 

I can never be pretty enough for every single person I interact with, much less every single person in this whole world. I feel free in the fact that since this expectation is so unrealistic and hard to achieve, it's better to just not give a fuck anymore (Even if I wanted to give a fuck, there's absolutely nothing I can change about my small boobs anyway). 

Once I see how laughable trying to please everyone's beauty standards is, I just wish that everyone reading this gets the gist of what I'm saying (however cliche it is) and to in the most matured way possible, tell everyone that makes comments about your appearance to kindly FUCK OFF. 👼✨