Living Life in the Fat Lane

Chapter 1: Welcome to My World

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, beholding all the glory I could only hope to be.  I see the potential: a higher nose bridge, fairer skin, courtesy of a few injections of glutathione, and a svelte version of what is actually staring back at me: a nose inherited from my father’s ancestors, naturally-tanned skin that screams “Pinoy!”, and a supersized body that just can’t seem to stop growing - horizontally, that is. A few adjustments here and there, through some kind of physical overhaul, and I would be the socially acceptable version of my current self. The one who could walk in public with head held high, capable of making direct eye contact, with a lilting laugh that would surely mesmerize anyone within hearing range.

 The buzzing of my phone jolts me from my reverie, and as quickly as my vision of the “potential me” came into being, so too does it disappear into thin air, cruelly dashing all my hopes and dreams of physical perfection.

 Hi, I’m Kaitlin, and I’m a plus size diva.

Despite my size, I still see myself as a fairly attractive woman. On good days, perhaps more attractive than I actually am.   On bad - well, let’s just put it this way - I see myself locked up in a cage, charging people five hundred pesos for viewing.

The mind is a wonderful thing, but it could also be a breeding ground for self-deprecating thoughts which could lead to depression and social suicide.  I was told, as a young girl, to always have happy thoughts. But sometimes girls grow up to be cynical adults, which I sometimes am.

Perhaps a lot of people are far worse off than I am - depending on their standards. I do have a supportive and caring family: a mom who’s as reliable as the Rock of Gibraltar; a father whose eccentricities I at times find amusing; a sister who spends her days writing elegies for fun; a brother who thinks Manny “The Pacman” Pacquiao should be on the face of a two thousand peso bill;  a domestic diva of a sister-in-law, who can literally whip up a gourmet meal in 26 minutes; my four-year-old nephew, a diehard Beatles fan who hums Yellow Submarine in his sleep.   But then of course there’s me, a woman in her mid-thirties, still waiting for fat to become mainstream.

I reach inside my tattered denim bag to get my equally overused phone. My heart starts to beat a tad faster at the thought that the text message might be from Jason, my “secret office crush.” I tap my phone, and lo and behold, the text message is not from Jason but from my mom, who is lovingly reminding me to look for a dress already to wear to my cousin Malou’s wedding.      

The thought of THE outfit for Saturday’s wedding now enters my mind. It’s a subject matter I’ve been avoiding since I got the invitation last month.   I’ve procrastinated almost to the very last minute, perfectly convinced that if ignored long enough, the problem would disappear. Being the size that I am, it is virtually impossible to find decent wedding-appropriate attire in the countless dress shops all over Metro Manila, as the average Filipino woman’s dress size ranges from 6 to 12. I’m certainly built differently, and have struggled, ever since I entered womanhood, with finding clothes that fit.

The only reason I have clothes that fit is because my aunt Lina, who lives in Cerritos, is kind enough to fill half a balikbayan box with plus size clothes that she finds on the clearance racks of the department stores in her area. If it weren’t for her, my closet would be filled with everyday clothes; from my favorite three-for-one hundred pesos frayed knee-length shorts that I bought six years ago at a Christmas bazaar, to my souvenir shirts whose round necklines have now become so wide that they look like Sabrina collars, to ill-fitted gray, black, and blue pantsuits worn with the same inner blouse to give the illusion that I have more clothes than I actually do.  And of course I cannot forget my treasured pajamas, perhaps more expensive than my actual work clothes. I have a penchant - nay, an obsession - for soft and comfortable pastel-hued PJs, probably because I spend most of my nights alone in my room anyway.