Monday, February 22, 2010

My Two Essential F-Words


Growing up in the small town of Chukai Kemaman, there's always one thing that I am completely sure of:

I am far from thin and pretty as deemed fit by Kemamanian teenagers.
Possibly fugly.
It's true what they say, teenage years are ruthless years. Full of stereotypes, expectations and pressures from everywhere. I could still remember painful moments of being called nick names and the loneliness of having to handle them all. My parents did what they can do to make me feel better. Telling me that I am beautiful, both inside and outside and that there are some things much more important than being popular at school or having a boyfriend/girlfriend.

And I did appreciate those consoling thoughts but my parents were not in school with me to protect me from the torturous name calling, they were not there to point out how beautiful I was when I mentally compared my gigantic thighs, arms, face and dress size with the prettier gals, they were not there when I masked the hurt I felt with laughter and jokes, and they have NO friggin idea how depressing it was to be overweight, four-eyed, less than average looking nerdy bookworm who was the frequent focus of boys' jokes and girls' judgmental looks.

Good thing I found poetry to distract myself instead of procuring a gun loaded with bullets, narcissistic and psychopathic rage. There were a million things that I couldn't express verbally and poetry helped. Reading them and soon after that, writing them, I discovered that I wasn't alone. That there are bigger and much more significant things and ideas out there in the world than the need to get the attention of the cutest boy in school. Like art, love, life, death, God(dess), travel, self and the absolute necessity of the two F-words i.e. Family & Friendship.

I started bucking up.

So fast-forward a gazillion years later (kids, this is a hyperbole), and there it is, the ONE thing that I am sure of:
I may not be conventionally pretty to most, but what do I care?
I know that those who love me [Allah, you're on the top of my list] can see my beauty (definition: a complex and sophisticated messy mix up of flaws and plus points) radiating like a new born pulsing sun.
And I shall love them back completely [foc] countless of times over.
And to end this Monday blabbering, an apt poem dedicated to the plumpy and pimply teenager in all of us. Cheers :)

Homage to My Hips
by Lucille Clifton (RIP: 13th Feb 2010)

these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top

0 poetic mutterings: