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"Is it weird in here or is it just me?" Woody Allen



HOWDY! This is a platform for me to express myself. To bare my thoughts, emotions and life stories. Leaving bite-size pieces of me before I go. I graciously invite you to comment, swap stories and thoughts. Please post your comment or get in touch with me here.


OTHER HERMITS
ON THE BLOG.

alexandra wong
allyson
bawangmerah
consuela
dreams&sugars
jemima
lex
loopymeals
lynn wabbit
mooi
mrd
nawooz
peteteo
postsecret
scentofgreenbananas
simontalks
snippetsoflife
suyin
tequilamockingbird
thewritetherapy
uncletim
visithra
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ARCHIVES.
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FAVOURITES.
a rustic analysis*
bo leh*
buat donno*
jakun & boon cit - a love story. not.*
jingling nona*
many happy returns of the day, u sexy u*
love misunderstood*
no willy*
perfect man*
save me from this misery*
tan ah yam, i'm sorry*


INTERVIEWS & REVIEWS.
an interview with joe blogs*
woo! a review!*


TRAVELOGUES.
halong bay - you jump, i save you*
hanoi on my mind*
hanoi - in search of the pain-in-the-arse ice cream and other stories in between*
sungai petani, my hometown* [pt 1]
leave my country* [pt 1]
leave my country* [pt 2]
ozcapade* [pt 1]
ozcapade* [pt 2]
ozcapade* [pt 3a]
ozcapade* [pt 3b]
moomoo vista* [pt 1]
moomoo vista* [pt 2]
moomoo vista* [pt 3]
ah moy in paris* [pt 1]


CREDITS.
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so what if i am fat?* 

Last Saturday, I decided to finish the last 3 sessions at a slimming centre. Now, before you go shoot me pointlessly in the dark over this decision, allow me to explain. I had signed up for the 10-sessions package for RM288 back in 2003, when I was obviously fleshier.

Back then, passers-by on the street would raise a high-five and endearingly call me ‘Michelle’ coz I was 20g short to be mistaken as a Michelin mascot. My flesh hung loose around the mid-section area and cool air surrounded me when I walk in the hot sun, as the waving wings I call my triceps synchronized its motions with my marching legs. And don’t get me started on those thunder thighs. And my orange peels. In a nutshell, a sight to behold I was not. Grotesque would be a better adjective. So I succumbed to the advertisement and chose the easy way out to shed those insecurities…

Did the sessions work? Definitely not. In fact, after 7 sessions, I piled up on those pounds. The 2 main contributing factors were (i) self-denial that I’ve earned the ticket to chomp more fattening food (ii) false idea that I don’t need to exercise. After I knocked some senses into my own head that exercise and eating right was the way to go about it, I decided to cease the session and put this shameful episode behind me.

As always, the past decided to play catch up and pay an uninvited visit right after I returned from Australia. It came in the form of a phone call, to remind me that I still have 3 more sessions to fulfil. Typical me of being prudent with money after every holiday, I decided not to waste good money and thus agreed to spend an hour of the lazy weekend afternoon at the mercy of some fat-electrocuting machine.

How naïve can I be? I became conscious to that fact the minute I entered the centre. Plastic smiles greeted me like a prodigal daughter, asking how I have been without any form of eye contact…and they flash illuminating “You’re Fat!” signs across their foreheads.

Quickly I was ushered into a room and was asked to strip down to my undergarments, got my weight taken along with my BMI (Body Mass Index) and fat percentage. The 30-min electrocution session passed swiftly. After which, I was measured at various parts of the thighs, arms and waist and thereafter, the nutritionist entered the room for a criticizing consultation session.

She informed me that I have 31% body lard fat and looked at me like a plump hog ready for the slaughter house. And as I weigh 59.5 kg at the height of 163cm, my BMI index is at 22.4, which is at the tail end of the normal weight index of 18.0 – 22.9. “While you lost inches compared to 2003, you are still considered as fat. You are only 0.5 point away from being overweight.”

I disputed with the argument that I had just returned from a 10-day adventure trip which included daily 3-5 hours of rigorous walking and hiking and thus, I had definitely lost inches even though I gain 3kg, which I assumed, is the weight of solid lean muscles.

“Ya, but you are still fat”, was all she could offer me.

“No, I am not fat! I know the definition of fat. Look here, I seriously don’t care about the weight. I am happy with how I look and I think my BMI is fine.”

“Ya, but you are still fat”, she parroted the same answer in fear I had missed it the first time.

“Ya, but I don’t care!”

“You don’t care that you are fat?”

“But I am not fat!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I don’t care what you say. I am not fat. End of conversation.”

“Anyway, do you want to come back next Saturday for another session?”
I gave it a short thought and told her no. I seriously will not stomach any more of this ridiculous censure. Ever.

June 13, 2006 // anjali* pranced on tip-toes all over the keyboard at 7:32 pm
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