V for Vanity

I am standing in front of the mirror frowning and trying to regulate my breathing. I just had dinner I made by myself; rice and spicy beef soup. I clear my throat few times trying to get rid of the soreness in my esophagus. When that didn't help, I gulp more water while standing in front of the mirror. The person staring back at me is still frowning, probably wondering why I just threw up my dinner. No. I don't have food poisoning. I didn't threw up against my will. I made myself to because I felt guilty eating the dinner.

Right after I wrote my first post in this blog, I googled my brain for any small secrets that I can pour out here to officially start the series of confessions of mine. But like any other old diaries you hide in the secretest place in your house inside the old locked box, I had some difficulties trying to retrieve them back. The key's rusty and there are too many padlocks. I never share most of my secrets with anyone else so there was no need for me to thinkabout any of them. I bet inside the drawers are dusty as well.

But tonight after one hearty dinner, I suddenly felt conscious about the inches I gain from one week stay with my family. One week is all it takes to change my diet from a slice or two of sandwiches and drinking lots of water to two or three heavy meals a day. Coming back to my apartment brings back to mind my normal routines, but I was still in holiday mood. I cooked one of my favourite meals and had it with hot rice. All was good until I realized how full I was after dinner. It didn't take long for me to develop a sense of guilt over eating too much, not to mention the one week I didn't keep my diet. Needless to say, I took purposeful steps to the bathroom and with practiced ease threw up all the food that I could out of my stomach into the toilet bowl. I feel lighter and relief, but at the same time I know why I keep it a secret. It's not normal.

Confession#1: I'm occasionally bulimic.

I indeed am leaning heavily towards being bulimic. I said occasionally because I can still control it. I never did it at home around my family or around my friends. I never did it outside. Only in my apartment, in my own bathroom. Even then, I hardly giving in to the urge to purge. In a week I probably do it only once, depends on what I eat. I control this disorder as best as I could. But I will never know when I will have a guilt attack over a meal. I'm not proud about what I do. I never spit a single word about this condition to anyone. Ever.

If you see me on the outside, you'll see a normal girl though slightly on the chubby side. Once in a while, I brave myself to try and wear nice and fashionable clothes and you'll get to see me smiling and pretend that I look pretty. On the inside however, I am wondering what other people are thinking about me. Are they looking at my flabby arms or flat chest? Or perhaps my chubby short legs or my wide behind. Dressing nicely means I'll be visiting the ladies room more times than I normally would just to check that I don't look silly. I feel that everyone are staring at me and talking about me behind my back and I'll lock myself in the stall and check if there's a tear, stain or anything on my clothes. It really is tiring that I prefer to wear the simplest clothes to go outside: jeans and shirt. I can't change my face, but I certainly can try and change my body. No matter how superficial it may sounds, losing weight makes me happy.

Everything has its roots of cause. Growing up, I always have self esteem issues. Kids say the darndest things. They tell you the way it is and whether they mean it or not, it can be a cruel thing to say. Once when I was 7 while I was sitting on the bench with several friends, one girl compared her skinny shapely thighs to my chubby short ones.

"Hey you have fat thighs!" she exclaimed. An uncomfortable feelings crawled in my stomach as I tried to smile. "Look at mine. See?" she continued as she scooted closer to me so the other girls could see the comparison. Even though I didn't realize it at the time, her comments hurt and made me sad. I kept smiling anyway. While other kids were busy learning ABC, I was learning to mask my feelings at the same time. But that was only the beginning. The first few years in school were rough before I learn distancing myself from other kids. But I learnt a bit too late. I experienced one of the worst incidents when I was in 5th grade.

It was Performance Night. I wasn't suppose to be involved in any of the performances. That was until one of the dancers suddenly fell sick with cold and had to stay home that day. Ironically, they didn't have any back up dancers and quickly tried to find a substitute. Almost all the 6th graders were involved in the performances, onstage or backstage, and I guess they were having a problem to find someone to take the place of the sick dancer that they had to turn to 5th grader to extend their search.

As it turned out, one of the dancers was Tina, a senior who was always nice to me. She approached me along with the other girls and asked whether I'd be interested to be in their performance. While I hesitated, I noticed one of the girls pulled Tina aside and overheard her saying that they didn't really need another dancer while glaring at me. She was one of the popular girls in school and very pretty. The way she said in a loud whisper made me think that perhaps she wanted me to hear her objection. Tina said something that effectively quieted the girl.

No matter how shy I was, I liked dancing but I didn't want to make a fool of myself as I would only have 4 to 5 hours to memorize the steps they had weeks to practice. Only that time, for once I wanted to know how it feels to be in the spotlight. How would it feel to wear a nice costume. To feel pretty. This kind of chances didn't come my way all the time. Plus, it was a simple dance and would only take about 5 minutes. So I accepted, much to the chagrin of the other girls. Tina told me that the steps were very easy and she was right. Within an hour, I managed to get all the steps right and happily continued practicing alone. My mom was coming that night so I was excited to have her see me on the stage.

I was early to arrive to get myself ready for the performance. But whether the teachers were too busy or they didn't know I was supposed to be replacing the sick girl, no one bothered to help me put on my make-up. I looked around nervously seeing all the other girls were all ready and pretty, with make-up, glitters and all. I shyly approached a teacher and told her that I was one of the dancers. One look at me and she gasped.

"Why aren't you ready yet?" She pulled me forward and started to put on make-up on my face. At first I was excited. All the other girls looked beautiful with their make-up on and I was pretty sure I'd looked nice too. That was until the teacher gave a nervous laugh and tried to rub some of the make-up off my face with a tissue.

"Oh my!" she said. My heart fell. There was no mirror near me, but I knew something was wrong. It didn't help when another teacher took a look at me and looked incredulous as she asked my 'make-up artist' what did she do to my face. She only shrugged as it was too late to do anything as the performance would start in a few minutes. They quickly shoved me to the backstage to gather with the other dancers.

I peeked through the curtain and saw my mom in the audience. I was getting nervous by the second and all the while trying to rub the make-up off my face hoping that I'd look less bad. A few minutes before the performance, we were all lined up, and the popular girl who was busy talking finally looked around and saw me. I smiled at her a little, but it was cut short by her muffled laugh.

"Oh my God! Look at her! She looks like a clown!" All the other kids turned to look at me and while some looked sorry for me, I only noticed those who tried to hide their giggles.

"Stop it! That was mean of you," Tina hissed at her friend who was still laughing.

"What? I was only telling the truth," she retorted, without looking guilty at all. I hardly saw anyone as the teachers ushered us towards the stage. I felt something burning in my eyes and suddenly everything looked blurry. Then I realized it was my tears.

Needless to say, it was a disaster. I forgot my dance steps and tried to follow the other girls while at the same time trying to hold back my tears. Later when my mom asked me if anything's wrong, I only looked down while shaking my head, too embarrassed to tell her about anything. She never knew I had a rough time at school and I wasn't about to start telling her when I was already in 5th grade. Miraculously, I survived school, though what happened never left my consciousness.

On the outside, you'll see a confident, nonchalant girl. On the inside, only I know what I feel. I guide my secrets well.