If the title of this post doesn’t hook you in to actually want to read the post, I don’t know what will. Like, how many people in this whole wide world will declare to the public that, in fact, they are getting fat?

Or precisely, how many girls will? Not many, I reckon.

Truth to be told, I have never been this fat. Okay, actually, scientifically speaking, I’m not fat. Like, my Body Mass Index (BMI) is right in the middle of the normal range (it’s 21, while the range for normal is 18.5 to 24.9). I eat less of what I used to eat in Melbourne. Heck, I even go to the gym!

But guess what? My body today is the fattest version of myself for the 21 years, one month, and six days I’m living. Some of my favourite jeans are already too tight. My favourite skirt has gone passed the point of fit. Some of my freshly purchased dresses that have never been worn don’t look that great on me anymore. People starting to notice and nudging and giving me those friendly reminders, from a subtle, “I think you’ve gained weight,” to “I think you should lose some weight.”

Not that I’m not trying.

Well, actually, I’m not trying intentionally. In the past, when I try to lose some weight, I did it unconsciously, just by decreasing the amount of food I eat for dinner and somehow, it always worked. Now? Well, you could have guessed, right?

It’s not working. Guess it’s time to get serious about losing some weight, literally.

Frankly speaking, I have never been a fuss due to gaining weight. I do not really care that much if I get fat, like, really, it’s not the end of the world. I’m just mourning my beautiful clothes that don’t fit, or hardly fit, or fit-but-I-can’t-give-them-much-justice-kind-of-thing. In a way, it’s a good thing though, because I literally buy less clothes these past few months.

My Mom and my boyfriend both encourage me to hire a Personal Trainer (hahah! Oh my, I’m actually considering). One tells me to go running. Another to swim. A friend suggests me to eat less carbs and more protein. Cut the junk food. And the beers (whoops).

But I still have one unanswered question: how do I get fat? Really, with eating half of what I’m eating in Melbourne, plus literally going to the gym (never done this, not even once, while in Melbourne), how can I get fat? Is it some metabolic game on play? Or is it because I’m working at the moment and all I do is adding one more layer of fat in front of the laptop? I wonder.

If you’re still reading, you might be wondering what’s the point of this article. I don’t actually know. Perhaps it’s about: when you’re living a happy life (and not a stressed one), you’ll get fatter. Like, I’m on that stage of life where everything is… steady. At least, everything minus the thing about what-I’m-going-to-do-to-be-successful-in-the-future-kind-of-thing. When I was in uni, I still had lots of pressure to perform. Maybe those kept me from gaining weight. But again, some people do gain weight when they are stressed. So that makes this whole point invalid too.

Another possible point of this article is that people hate admitting that they need help. Myself, too. Like, if I can get myself to gain so much weight (okay, it’s only five kgs more of my usual normal weight), I can get myself out. But months passed and still, there’s nothing (in fact, I might be gaining more weight instead of losing one). Perhaps, it’s time to get professional help.

So if you’re still on that stage of denial, thinking that you can survive on your own and that you don’t need help, I invite you to open your mind and think twice about your problem: is it the right thing to do, to be handling stuffs on your own, or is it your ego speaking?

If it’s your ego, the take-home message from this slightly-fat-girl-trying-to-lose-some-weight is this: admitting that you need help is not a sign of weakness.

Kirk out.

The chubby girl hits 21 and gains 5 kgs. Somehow.