Self-Hatred II

Refer this.

Recently I have been reminded by a girl that I have this confident exterior – that IDGAF what people think. I have my own style, my own stride. That this is how I smile. That I am always the sexier of the two.

It was unbelievable for her to witness my meltdown after I tried on a bikini with a mirror that smacked reality on my face. See those thighs – they are the size of tree trunks! That was what the mirror was screaming at me.

But the mirror in Krabi was kinder and I had more fun bikini-shopping. But alas, the Samsung camera don’t lie in capturing those thighs, man.

Regardless, I can be proud of my ass. H, thank you for telling me to do squats.

With regards to the tree trunk thighs … H once asked why I don’t wear shortpants. And wondering aloud that my legs are long enough for the gas and pedal yet I have the driver’s seat so close to the steering wheel.

Kaki panjang kan?

Man, I love that line.

Yet, I have thighs the size of tree trunks – with matching calves. I think I have legs matching to a soccer player’s – a male soccer player. Thank goodness for a decent length of my legs, though.

I want to tell you something – don’t lose weight. I like you like this, it’s just nice. Just right. And no, I don’t see those tree trunks on you that you have been babbling about. Why do you care about what people think, why don’t you care about what I think? 

Wow, that guy. He is everything. I don’t have to hold anything back with him.

Yet, besides the tree trunk thighs and the jutting teeth, there’s something new – the protruding huge forehead of mine.

Linger

I am guilty of always comparing. With the girls on Instagram, with the girls on Twitter, with the girls on Tumblrs. Mostly on Instagram. All these pictures are infiltrating my mind negatively. I want a loving partner and cute babies. I want a tastefully decorated house and a nice ride. I want fashionable and successful circle of friends. I want lavish trips and be photographed in my latest designer bikini with matching jewelry.

And H, I always want to position you as the loving partner. Don’t we have the same ideals in most things, as much as I am always opposing you but it really is that I have tons of feelings for ya.

I get sick and nauseous when I read someone I know is finally hitching it. Hate it. Hate the bling, the dress, the flowers and the adoring smiles they get from the photographed expression of their beau. Where’s mine already?

So what is wrong if there are some girls’ dream or destination is that dais by Pak Abu? She didn't pull a wedgie out of you, isn't it – not that it’d be any trouble with that granny panties of yours.

Man, I’m spiteful.

There, I am guilty of comparing.