thoughts on getting fat

There is no stigma to being heavy here. From what I can tell, weight is a sign of prosperity as it means you can afford food. The staples of the diet here are carbs and more carbs. I feel heavier every day. Luckily for me there are no mirrors in my house. Just live in denial, right? I went into the city recently and noticed myself in the reflection of the building window. My ass looks the size of Africa. I was enamored with my image as I stood there staring. (Now, a rational mind would say "hey self, obviously you haven’t changed that much seeing as your clothing all still fits," but at this moment I am not a rational mind). I feel like a foreign body in a foreign land. I play into my own insecurities; use them, abuse them, like a cracked out whore on a binge.

I walk home along the dusty roads with Kesia, a young girl from the school yesterday.

She is talking about eating and weight, nonchalantly like a joyful topic to discuss.

“Do I look fatter?” I ask her.

“Yes” she says.

And then starts on a tangent about a broken shoe she found one day. It is like a totally different question with absolutely no meaning to her.

Yes, yes, yes, fatter.