3CB

I’ve heard of people dealing with issues by choosing to let them go. You can – they say – choose to forgive, or to not hold grudges, or to stop mentally bashing someone’s face. But can you choose to NOT be depressed? It’s advice I’ve been given pretty often, and it always annoys me, because in my mind, I didn’t decide to be depressed, so I can’t exactly decide not to be.

Except maybe I can. Depression is a disease that makes you see the world – and yourself – in muted tones. The sky is never blue, the grass is never green, and your eyes are never pretty. The whole world could tell you how awesome life is, how awesome you are, and you just wouldn’t see it. But is it possible to teach yourself – to train yourself to see a different world?

I recently reconnected with a dear friend from high school. In the middle of a random conversation, she pointed out that in all the years she’s known me, she had no idea how low my self esteem was. She said, ‘Tell me one good thing about yourself – apart from your daughter and your writing.’ I smiled and realised for the first time in a while that according to me, there wasn’t any.

When you say things like that to the wrong people, they get mad because they think you’re fishing for compliments. But when you say it to the right people, they see you, really see you. And if they truly care about you, they help you. My friend helped me, and I love her for that. Thanks to her, I looked in the mirror for the first time in ages. Really looked, not the cursory glance I give myself at every bank window. And for the first time in ages, I allowed myself to see the beauty that was there.

I sat down and analysed myself the way I do every minute of every day. Except this time, I made a conscious choice to look for good things, and I was surprised at how many I could come up, with considering I wasn’t aware that anything good existed. I made a promise to myself, and to my friend, that I would do this every day, deliberately making a list of all my good qualities, until it comes natural to see myself that way.

I made a second promise that is harder to keep. I promised her I wouldn’t talk about my weaknesses. The reason that promise is harder is that it feels like lying, like pretending to the world that I’m not who I am. But my friend put it clearly. If a bird breaks its leg – or even its wing – does it stop being a bird?

Pretty much all my life, I’ve defined myself by my flaws and lived my life accordingly. The reason I’m depressed so much of the time is that I see myself as the sum of my faults, and dwell on them so much that there’s nothing left to love. By shifting my perspective, I can be a lot happier, because I can finally see the those hidden features, the ones that everyone else claims are so many, and so clear.

I’m a cynical romantic, that’s no secret. I don’t believe in happily ever after, at least not for me. But in talking to my friend, I realise I do want that, I just don’t think I deserve it, or that I’m worthy of it. I convinced myself that I don’t need it because I think I’ll never have it. So maybe my first step in finding an ideal, healthy relationship is not in letting go of toxic liaisons, but in teaching myself I don’t deserve that kind of love. Then maybe I can draw the right one into my life, or at the very least, recognize him when he walks by.

It’s interesting that ever since I started watching Gilmore Girls, I couldn’t wait to turn 32. For me it was the apex of motherhood and feminine beauty … and Lorelai. But what changed for me wasn’t simply the age. It was a much-needed talk from a well-loved friend, a talk that came at just the right time, a true message from [God and] the universe.

This is my gift to myself, for this year, and for years to come. Allowing myself to see the good everyone else sees in me. Fixing that wound on the inside that no one else knows about. And leaving myself open to the right kind of love – in friendship, in partnership, and even in my own child.

Depression. My theory for a while has been to sit back and watch it, let it pass, because I know that eventually, it will. But some days are harder than others, and today was one of those days. Maybe it’s because a hot boy took a pot shot at my eating habits this week. Or maybe it’s the weather. All I know is I was so down this morning that I might have seen a shrink … except that trouble at work means my medical cover was cancelled.

It’s the holiday season and there’s lots of people talking about gratitude and counting blessings, so I sat on my bed in the dark and counted all the lovely things that have happened to me this year. It didn’t really help. I glanced over at my baby and hugged her in her sleep. She instinctively reached over and hugged me back, and that did help. It wasn’t enough to shake all the blues away though.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, my instinct was to dress in black and skip breakfast, since I was late for work already. Then I figured I should try to do something – anything – to lift my mood a bit. So instead of wearing my funky black attire, I put on a sparkly yellow hoodie and a matching yellow bow.

In the ad world, wearing bright colours can lift a person’s mood. We say that all the time. It’s how we pick our logos. In the real world, I’ve been wearing yellow sequins every hour of today, but I don’t feel any less blue. I’m glad I did something though. I’m glad I took a step beyond waiting for the darkness to pass, because the practical way isn’t always the right way. Also, I found a video that made me smile. It was posted by a former boss to – you know – show us how to advertise Christmas. Muhahaha. Still, it made me smile, so that’s something. So here’s to chasing the dark days away and Early Merry Blue Christmas everybody.

Few words give me as much pain as these *pointing up there*. Especially when said words are uttered by a male that I find attractive. And especially when said male is sneering at my miniscule portions while he tucks into the massive globs of succulence on his plate. Sigh. Of course, there’s another set of words that can cause even more pain, regardless of who says them. “You’ve grown so BIG!” You know, I hadn’t really noticed that! Thank you for reminding me. *russumfussumnotsosmalltalk*

Here’s the thing. I love food. I wouldn’t say I’m a foodie, but I do love food. And I love my food in large portions. Maybe that’s why few things flatter me more than a man commenting on my eating habits. I’ve had guys say they love to watch me eat, and that they like a woman with a healthy appetite. That gets me blushing more than any other set of adjectives combined. But here’s the problem. The same men that compliment how much I eat will turn around and talk about how big I’ve become. Make up your minds, will you?!?

I guess it’s not really fair to blame guys. They don’t know what it takes for girls to keep in shape. It’s like when the neighbour saw my baby’s hair. We were at the salon, and she was halfway through her cornrows. He saw her, whistled, then loudly told his friends – in fluent sheng no less – how gorgeous her hair was, and how he wished grown-up women had hair like that.

My baby, the hairdresser, and I all rolled our eyes and grinned. Because for the princess to have her hair like that, she had cried for hours over the plaiting. She was only smiling because she was currently on a break. Also, the hair had previously spent several hours in straightening chemicals to make it soft enough for cornrows. Of course this could lead to an entirely different debate about the natural hair thing and just when the short afro got sexy again, but that’s a blog post for another day. Today, we’re whinge-ing about weight.

I understand that some people are big-boned, and that others have ant-like metabolism. I understand that some people can keep their weight down effortlessly, while some of us only have to think about cookies and the pounds pile on. I’ve been off-and-on diets for as long as I can remember, and have tried a million different exercise regimes (for about five minutes at a time).

I often look back at my weight map, and the only times I’ve been slim were when I simply wasn’t eating. From Age Zero to Ten, I apparently didn’t like food, and had to be force-fed or end up on the IV drip – both of which happened repetitively. From age 19 to 20, I was at a university that had terrible menus (no meat, no caffeine) so I subsisted on Sprite and mandazis sandwiched with fried eggs. From age 22 to 24 I lived on hardly any income and sometimes stole onions and spinach from the neighbour’s garden and fried them kavu to feed my princess. At all other ages and stages, I weighed in at roughly 80kgs.

Fortunately, those 80kgs are mostly bone, so despite trying to break the scales, I get yelled at whenever I try a new exercise or diet, because the excess weight simply doesn’t show! Hence the sneers from attractive male specimens with big plates. The thing is … I generally eat like a guy, and am quite proud of my king-sized appetite. Unfortunately, eating until I’m full is SO bad for my BMI. At least that’s what my four different doctors say. Sigh.

In an ideal world, I’d have a healthy relationship with food. I’d eat whatever I want without beating myself up with guilt afterwards. I’d revel in my ice cream and chocolate and salads (?).Or – at the very least – I’d enjoy exercise enough to do it consistently and keep my weight controlled. I wouldn’t look for sneaky ways to fit the fifteen minute rule, tricking my tummy into thinking it’s full. Sneaky ways like stopping in mid-meal to make a long phone call, or heating my food beyond scorching so that it takes ten minutes for each spoonful to cool.

But in this world, I watch fitness videos and drool at the gorgeous man eating canelloni, a dish that sounded interesting enough to Google. I secretly watch him nibbling at his dish now that I’ve finished my fist-sized portion of brown rice and peas. And as I watch, I ask myself how weird it would be if I walked over, gave him a smile, pointed at his massive bowl of stuffed pasta, and asked, ‘Are you going to finish that?’ Because from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t really look like he will.

♫ Nataka niwe wako ♫ Maunda Zorro ♫