I AM FAT. MY SOUL ISN'T.

My good friend Muliya is a jerk who occasionally speaks sense, occasionally. We were discussing the blog and he confronted me about how much of a light weight I was becoming. The one thing I promised myself when I started writing on this platform was to always be honest. To be honest first with myself then with my readers. I am borderline offensive with my honesty in person, I try my best to avoid lies not because I am a good person but because I am lazy. Lying is hard work. We can bet that you don’t know many fat liars.

I have used this platform to talk about practically everything. Race, rape and even roaches. But somehow I have managed to dodge weight. People only talk about flaws they can flip into strengths. Fat is only celebrated when it is a certain kind of fat, the kind that is only distributed around hips and thighs. Dark skin is only celebrated when it’s smooth and exotic, African hair when it’s long and curly, feminists when they are rich and successful. Everything that can’t be flipped into a strength falls through the cracks. Flaws that are just blatantly flaws get hidden in the giant closet. Let us be honest. Flaws that are just flaws exist. Somewhere in the Savanna there is a fat guy who untags himself out of pictures and only posts pictures of anime, cars and wildlife. Somewhere in Lusaka there is a woman shaving her beard religiously because you are all judgemental.

I am talking about weight because it is something that we all know exists but we all seem to ignore. If honesty and vulnerability is the name of the game I will admit that it bothers me sometimes; that sometimes even I wish I was smaller. I wish I was small and regular looking so that people would get to know me before making a random assumption based on my size. Sometimes I wish I don’t have to realign my jeans when I stand or watch out for my butt crack. People always look at the fat person when the car hits a hump and they inwardly judge fat people in Hungry Lion. Being fat is an issue you will have to address on the bus, in the clothing store, at the doctors or with friends and family who remind you every time you meet that you have gained weight. Guys seriously, stop it, I have a mirror and jeans I no longer fit to remind me, instead let’s talk about the weather, the economy or sport. You wouldn’t want me commenting about your receding hairline or missing tooth every time I saw you, would you?

Fat people come in three forms; the comedian, the pleaser and fat-n-bitter. My favourite kind are those that are simply themselves, they own the full range of who they are and forget they are fat so you equally forget when you are with them. Wouldn’t it be nice if all of us fat people were like them? I am a bipolar fatty, depending on the day I come in any of the three forms, I also have skinny fingers and beauty face so I just take selfies and trick people. I’m kidding…or am I?

Fat people are just people. Soft ones that make amazing cuddle buddies. I still remember how cushy my father’s belly was when I hugged him after work. I know fat people that run marathons, sing at the Opera and are great philosophers, scientists and fashion designers. I know fat people that smell amazing, that eat healthy and make great life partners.

Labels should only be for census. Using labels in real life simply displays a small mind.

My soul isn’t fat. My soul likes to read and laugh. My soul is what gets me to dance. My soul isn’t curvy, thick, PHAT or whatever else fat people are saying to comfort themselves these days. I am fat but my soul isn’t. My soul likes to paint on weekends. My soul can’t fight. My soul is accommodating but stubborn. My soul has values and believes in chocolate cake. It likes music and the sunset. My soul falls in and out of love. My soul is a myriad of experiences, smells and feelings and I refuse for anyone to describe it as fat. Fat is white, light and it combusts easily; my soul is ever lasting. If my soul can be described as anything today I would describe it as yellow. Yellow and warm. Bright and endearing. Almost gender neutral but swings heavily to the feminine side because of how soft is.