How often do we talk about our body?
I grew up hating my body.
I hated seeing myself naked in the mirror.
Trying as hard as I can to change it.
The more I hated it, the more it found ways to love me.
The more I ignored it, the more it reminded me of my strength.
When I chose to feel ashamed of it, it tried its best to make me feel belonged.
When I chose to take my frustation and anger on it, it calmed me down.
I was used to exploiting my body,
I was used to hating everything that was healthy for it.
And yet whenever my soul was vulnerable, it confined in my body.
I feel there is a unique relation between my soul and my body. The two lovers who
only have a lifetime to spend together.
When my soul looks out for other comforts, my body asks for its attention, for only it
can provide the love that my soul desires.
It took me time to understand this relation. Although it feels like my body was
seeking this love since ages. This love which no one else could ever offer.
Till now I thought of my body as a flesh which had a purpose of confining with the
But now it feels as if before my
soul, my body understood the politics of economies and it refused to confine to
It understood that it is everything that the world is missing.
My body is not a garden.
It doesn't smell flowery.
It smells of my desires, blood, sweat.
The flab around my waist is my body's resistance to the structure which put women
against each other.
My double chin represents my loud voice that cannot be silenced by a man's kiss.
The curves on my body are no dangerous roads that men fantasize to ride. These
curves are the ups and downs and abuses my body went through.
The stretch marks on my hips leads to the trail of my wildest dreams.
You might desire it, but you will never be able to possess it.
It only belongs to me.
Nothing this perfect can ever belong to you.