Another Kat Talks post tonight.
By the way, I’m running way behind on posts. I have tons of books to review, a trip to immortalize, a party to write about, and a school resume looms before me yet.
Without much pomp, let me talk once again—and tonight I shall talk about diet, portions and everything else in between.
Much to my glee, I have been dieting for three months now, and I’ve stopped recently. But to be honest, it’s not a diet if what you’re doing is healthy, wholesome eating.
And that’s what I’ve been doing recently, thus the secret to my rapid weight decline and the endless fitspiration posts.
However, something has come up in the past two weeks that made me screech to a stop in my temporary lifestyle.
My immune system declined, and I experienced fever of three days. Which shouldn’t happen—July’s in the midst of the summer, and I was just fine when we went to Cebu City, to Manila, and back home.
I found out that my previous weight had dropped from 60 kilos to 56 kilos, roughly 132 pounds to 123 pounds. =) Which was a big deal, and a great thing, being that we just came from Cebu City, a place for non-dieters and for dieters to lose their minds over calorie counts. Maybe if I hadn’t succumbed, I would’ve been around something lower, but I’m happy as it already is.
But when I was diagnosed by the doctor, I was told that I should build up my resistance by eating three meals a day, with my calorie count rising than what I’ve been eating for the past two months.
So I went home and ate a balanced meal, cutting back on the rice, because I consider white rice an enemy for those wanting to lose major weight and maintain their ideal weight.
Gradually, family members went home for the party and I got a sack of compliments regarding my weight loss, which I still have a hard time believing. My family has quick reflexes when it comes to showering compliments, which was something I discovered in the past few years.
Even at the party, I was always stopped by a distant relative or a stranger, commenting on how much weight I lost, asking what my secret was, and how beautiful I look.
And I was never the beautiful one, the skinny one, the one turning heads. So when the change happened, I always thought it was normal to see so many people looking straight at me, and not past me. And it’s refreshing, to be honest.
The aftermath of the party left little to be sorry about and instead, we got tons of calorific leftovers, so yesterday at dinner, I couldn’t help but munch on my protein. I got at least three servings. I know it’s bad, but at least I didn’t consume any rice.
Then my family started commenting on how I ate, and then I lost it. It’s not pleasing to have people looking at you and then taunting you with the guilt that’s about to come crashing down in a few hours or mere minutes—it’s something you don’t want to ever experience.
What upsets me most is—when I choose not to eat rice and opt for the oatmeal, they go berserk, telling me I’m on my way to killling myself, but when I sit down and set a plate for myself, they don’t say anything nice either.
I don’t get it, and this is one of the major things I really thought through before I decided not to tell anyone about my diet plans three months ago. I knew the condescending tones would ring, and that the commentary may turn out worse.
But it didn’t at first, and maybe now’s the retribution.
I know my limits. As a person who leads a fairly healthy lifestyle compared to the past, one who exercises daily and regularly, I know what I shouldn’t do or eat—after all, I’ve gone through the twelve-week phase, and dropped fifty pounds, so I know better than to throw away all that hard work out the window. I don’t appreciate criticism at all, but I’ll take the constructive kind. As I’m trying not to be overly sensitive, what I’d appreciate is a little encouragement, and though I don’t want to be tricked that I’m not gaining weight, what I’d like is a little reassurance that I’d still look beautiful, or okay, after eating that mini cup of dumplings.
Maybe it’s the reason we lack confidence—we’re surrounded by people who don’t see the silver lining in ourselves.
Stay nerdy x
Excited for tomorrow!
Lola/Grandma: I thought you were going to take up law.
Me: Nah. I’d much rather be a doctor.
L/G: So you’re going to be a doctor.
M: Yup. Ten long years. *applies make-up deftly*
L/G: Why are you so good at make-up? Are you going to be a beautician instead?
Do you ever feel like you could be write about something even if the world thinks you’re wrong?
I’ve always been labeled as the undesirable, the one who will never get to be friends with nice people. And I’ve accepted as the truth.
It always hurts to be described that way, especially by people who you think have a good image of you, only to find out you were wrong.
Maybe I’m not always as right as I think I am, but as one grows older and learns more, I’ve found out that you can always think of yourself as right even though batallions of people disagree with you.
But if no one’s ever ready to listen, it might not matter at all. You may not matter at all.
And that’s not okay at all. But I do dream that one day, I’ll be considered as right, and maybe I won’t get so depressed by then.
Tonight, I’m writing real time regarding something that happened earlier this evening—something that is ultimately regrettable.
As I haven’t been updating, I am in Cebu City with my mother. We’re on a weekend vacation, and supposed to leave tomorrow.
Before we left for familiar land though, something happened that has brought me depressingly down.
At around 9 PM, my mom and I rode a jeepney going to IT Park to save fare, but in the process, I lost something valuable as well.
I lost my digital camera.
And it’s not actually mine, it’s my mother’s. We’ve had it since sophomore year, and I lost it here. On our trip. In Cebu City.
It’s been more than three hours since it happened, but I can’t get over the sheer stupidity. The idiocy that I displayed. I know much better than sticking my cam in the pocket of my skinny jeans, and I don’t know why I didn’t execute the proper things I should’ve done in public transportation.
The story goes like this: my camera is in the left pocket of my jeans, and a guy by my left moves over. I don’t know why he chose to sit by me when he was at the opposite side of the jeepney, but he did, and I shifted to the right, so as to not attract attention. However, it wasn’t me who was catching his attention, but rather, the camera in my pocket.
And you know how it went—me fumbling upon finding out that I’ve lost my camera—and the very same guy comments that it might have been “snatched”.
And I’m not as stupid as I seem—I know it was him. And I know I was a very, very, very unintelligent person for letting my camera dangle.
Yes, it was a Sony camera. But the memories captured there are what count the most—and that I was not alert nor responsible enough to handle that simple task—keeping the camera safe.
I’ve been torturing myself for so long now and hurting myself, leaving pinch marks on random spots on my arms, a punishment for what happened. It’s nothing permanent—but like the memory of how I lost that camera, it hurts. But eventually, it will fade.
And the thing is, this is the second time I lost something. The first was my very first phone back in sixth grade in North EDSA, and last Friday, I was THIS close to losing my Kindle as well. So this is more than a careless mistake—I’d call this a stupid act of idiocy.
My eyes are burning from the spring of tears now run dry. And I know now that writing about it won’t help, as it surely won’t bring back the camera or the shots, which my mom and I had took a lot of because it was for blogging purposes, but it feels just a Tad therapeutic. Like a temporary fix.
I know that this will replay in my mind again, and that I’ll be putting the blame on myself, and a great deal of hate on the man who took the camera, but I’m hoping that I’ll be forgiven, and my mom not be mad.
And I hope the man who took it never be able to take happy pictures with something that wasn’t his.
This is definitely a lesson not learned in glee—and I don’t know if that’s necessarily a good thing or a bad thing, but maybe the worst lessons that leave the ugliest memories are the ones we learn the most from.
Will keep everyone posted.
Stay safe. Not everyone is as nice as we think.
Stay nerdy x
Have you ever felt any lesser than anyone?
All my life, I’ve spent every waking moment comparing myself to other people. They might have been better, they might have been worse. Even if I wasn’t fully aware what that would’ve meant, I started comparing myself, trying with all my might to see if I could measure up to them.
And the thing is, I never could.
I would always have a pound more, or a stray hair going too awry, or too clumsy for anything related to choreography. Unlike the others, who can easily fit the mold created for them.
And maybe it was kind of related to how my quest of belonging ended as well, but I always found myself comparing. Analyzing all of my traits, if I was greater or lesser, if I had a feat that stood out or something I lacked.
And it’s bad. Not only for myself, because that had led me to being self-contained and easily envious, but because I always pressured myself to exceed their already set-in-stone expectations. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing always.
But now, I’ve been seeking light and praying and reading the Bible, which is necessarily a good thing. It’s made me better. It’s like I’ve found a new thing to pursue, and it cleanses me every now and then.
I’m not saying I’m all kinds of perfect—that I’ll never revert to that. I still have my scars, and they’re not fading quickly too. What I’m saying is, I have a lighter weight on my shoulder, and it’s not dragging me too down.
I’m happier this way—how I don’t see myself measuring up to others. Yes, I may be lesser in every aspect that matters—and who cares? Picking up the piece in a speech I made, the most important thing is me, and me today.
And maybe, just maybe, this way, I’ll be happier.
Stay nerdy x