Verbal Diarrhea Monday: Aging, Appearances and Personal Trainers

I know this may come as a surprise to you my dear readers but I discovered something just a few minutes ago. Something that REALLY makes sense. It wasn’t really a discovery but more of a wake-up call self-realization. All these years of constant bickering and endless whingeing and whining how I’m festively plump I am…whatevs.


Note to self: never get internet friends to chop your face on Hilary Rhoda’s body EVER again.

Click click click!

What occurred to me though is… well, I realized that I’m actually getting older and NOT fatter. When people get old, their skin, bones and frames change drastically. Contrary to popular belief, even ching chong asian people like myself aren’t excluded from the destructive powers of aging.

In all honesty, one could only pretend they’re "17" to a certain extent. In my case, I’ve been pretending I’m 17 for the past 3 4 5 6 oh for the life of god just bloody say it, 7 years.

Personally speaking, I just don’t think I can do it any longer, you know?

Yep. I’m twenty something something years old.

(Don’t fucking push it.)

Anyway.

I spent a good half hour nit-picking my body before I got dressed.

I have lines on my neck, veins popping out of my hands, ENORMOUS thighs, flabby bingo wings, loose arm skin, a bloated tummy, elephantastic rolls, pores the size of moon craters, tobacco stains on my fingers, 2 stretch marks on my left butt cheek from all the yo-yo weight loss/weight gain crap I’ve been doing, the list goes on and on.

Blah.

You wanna know something?

I think I’ve finally come to terms that my body isn’t the same as it was, say, ten years ago AND it will NEVER be the same.

It really is sad but hey, it’s the truth.

And the truth hurts.

Sure there’s loads of options available out there to combat the effects of aging. Expensive creams, non-surgical treatments and yes, there’s always cosmetic surgery.

But will it make your insecurities go away?

Probably not.

Unless you have a good doctor. Hah!

I think this whole obsession with appearance is clearly a manifestation of our own personal insecurities.

You see, I’m a VERY, VERY insecure person. I know that from the start and I’m always the first one to say that.

Every day, I always ask myself will I ever look nice enough? Will I ever be thin enough? Will I ever be this and that enough?

The answer is no and it will always be a big NO.

I don’t know about you but I know I have a very good mental image of the perfect me.

And it doesn’t hurt to try things left and right in order for us to turn that mental image of our perfect selves into reality.

I mean, there’s always hope and Mr. Maybe is your best friend.

Maybe one day I’ll be nice enough.

Maybe one day I’ll be thin enough.

And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be this and that enough.

Let’s face it — we all make the conscious effort in trying to look as good as we can. Why? Because it feels good if we, ourselves, KNOW that we look nice. That’s where confidence comes from, correct?

Blah blah blah. Yaddi yaddi yadda.

—-

Letting Go

One of my biggest fears is to "let go".

Why can’t I let go with this obsession and be just like your average folk?

Yes, I know I’m crazy with this whole obsession with appearance and there are LOADS of people out there who just don’t care.

I know I spend vast amounts of time thinking/doing silly things when I could spend it on something like saving the world, the whales, the little children or the seals. For someone my age, gender and height, compared to the rest of the pack, yes, I’m probably severely underweight.

I searched for pictures of normal and random people MY AGE around the world and here’s what I came up with:

And then there’s ickle ol me.

Did you see the difference?

Look beneath the surface and beyond appearances.

I’m sure you’ve seen THOUSANDS of my photos over the past few years.

Look at the expressions on all of their faces and look at mine. Look at their ‘aura’ and compare it to mine.

It’s like they all don’t care and they’re just happy with the moment etc versus if you look at MOST of my photos, you won’t be able to tell what I’m thinking or what emotion I’m feeling at that particular moment.

Do you know what I mean?

Personal Trainers

I’ll borrow Miranda Priestley’s words.

Is it impossible to find a lovely, slender female personal trainer? Am I reaching for the stars here? Not really.

Believe it or not, I’m thinking about going back to the gym. For god’s sake I’m still paying for gym membership even though I haven’t sent foot there in years. The problem is, all of the personal trainers there are icky.

In fact, MOST OF THE PERSONAL TRAINERS in this country look icky.

I don’t like third world muscle marys.

AT ALL.

Most of them are utterly revolting.

It just doesn’t look right, you know?

They go prancing around the gym with their ginormous chests sticking out and their overcompensating arms bigger than my waist… I’m just scared of them!!!!!!

It’s soo awkward to have a big, grown intimidating muscle man help a fag such as myself achieve my fitness goals.

IN PUBLIC, AT THE GYM!

Yes?

No?

Besides, I don’t think they’d want me as a client anyway. I whine too much.

That’s why I’m on the look out for a lovely, slender female personal trainer. Someone who I can go jogging with and teach me how to exercise. If they have their own personal gym where nobody can see us the better.

I love this Steven Meisel for Vogue Italia editorial. LOVES IT!

Enough babble.

Email me and tell me you love me. My email address is bryanboy@gmail.com or SMS +63.915.785.1492.

I love you all!