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Its begin in the early 1990’s, theres me sitting in the 6th grade of elementary school, when my breast start to grow and my height is still in its slowest growth. My family used to compare my thin blackened body to a cousin’s of mine, she’s younger but fatter, somehow fatness in a 12th years old kid is sumthing so necessary, everybody’s around me is so fuzzy about it, they used to said that I got to eat more to gain those flappy little body. And somehow they got me, somehow vegetables sound great, eating double portion looks fun, somehow I want to show that I could be better (fatter) than my niece, and there’s the mass born.

When teen’s start to cheers when their bust bubbling, not with me, it’s a big pile of disaster, it’s a shame, it’s a burden, that I’m willing to hide beneath my shirt. It’s begin when all the nasty boy friends in my class love to “poke and run” rather than doing peek a boo. They used to poke girls breast and run without a trace leaving a crying little sad girl behind. That’s happened to me and my bubbling lil boobsie daisy, I hate their existence coz of what they lurking hazard, being poked. Soon after I decided to cover them with jilbab (junior high), and I realized I feel so much saver in it until now. Even in some unfortunate events a friend said once that my boobs was “saying hi up to the sun”, I start to love and cares them, I start to being grateful, somehow by buying a fine lingerie’s, find the best size bra’s, and check ‘em due to breast cancer, coz I realize better or worse it’s there, attached to me till I die.

The more years I earn, the more mass I got, people start to concern about, they start to give a warm warn due to overweight. Something that i don’t do listen, I feel fine, I feel that this mass will bit by bit lesser by time, diet is nonsense, I eat at my favor. I’m still hates this and that, not eating like 6th times a day, I’m just eat at my favor, but gain bigger mass though.

Looking for a hideaway when people start to gather and say “cheese!”, wearing an oversized shirt, and never consider to really falling for a guy, it’s a way out for a while (high school). Once in a sunny Sunday I got a elementary boy friend visit me to just said that he used to liked me, said that I used to be his “first love”, but later on he start the repetition of “but why now u were so fat?!!”. Now when I’m getting older, wiser and also fatter, I still doubt that “there’s a lovely love for a flappy girl”. Realizing that the truth says that there’s a massive number of fat girl got their love in every curbside. But my logic is still twisted, sometimes “size doesn’t matter” sounds real, but in other times those jokes like “paling-paling ambruk karena keberatan”, “makanya diet biar dapet pacar”, or “gak mungkin lah pacarku selingkuh ma dia (*by looking at me directly in a postcard view)”, make my state completely crumbled. And inspired by “no Land for old man (*or men)” It comes to me to think that the world still look by an eye to a flappy girl, no pictures of a beautifully flappy girl in magz, no one even dare to not to say a word “u’re getting fat” rather than “u looks happy” or something else than a physically appearance.

I would love to get slim, to wear size under 10, to wear almost every color, to rides a bianglala without afraid of it drops coz of overweighed, to learn photography from a guy without afraid that he things I’m falling for him, to let the chance to involve in love, but NOT in order to get an instant lover or anything in common.

Let the flappy girls live life happy and free. Look them in the eyes not in other entire part of the physics. Judge them by what she knows not what she shows. Give them gratitude, chance and appreciation. And let them show you loves.

Happy make-every-flappy-girl-happy!
*based on a true story of mine

note: i dont know whether flap or flab…i just take it from “from flap/flab to fab” reality show.


About misaoearliche

for Now i’m an enthusiast customer, a sweet reviewer, a cook lover, a recipe maker, a fancy hijab style-er (not really a stylist), a creative post-er, a frugal buyer, a seeking-for-eternal-love lover, an intimate craft-er, a crazy knowledge finder, a food picture taker (not yet a photographer), a seasonal traveler, a friend seeker, a mall go-er, an ice cream artisan and an entrepreneur.

2 responses to “NOT Another SAD STORY*

  1. reza

    nice stories…hihihi *buka kamus bahasa inggris

  2. fenny

    *nyari-nyari penerjemah dulu*

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