Self-body image and the post- millennial teen

Of millennial excess and obsession with self- body image...

"To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don't need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself."

Thich Nhat Hanh

Growing up in the eighties, I was always called chicken legs or pancake face for my high wide cheek bones. Being from Penang and of part-Sumatran Peranakan blood, I was never the quintessentially fair maiden of Chinese bloodline, who plasters Hazeline Snow on her face to become even that much fairer to exude the stereotypical look of fairness and beauty.

My teen years were a blur of poetry writing, essay perfecting, Sweet Dreams reading, Scrabble-playing and plenty of books, playing tricks on teachers and gossiping about boys that didn’t really exist in our all-girls school and hiding myself behind the comfort of uber thick and uncool photo-gray glasses.

Did it affect my self- esteem? Surprisingly no!

Was I even aware that I was entitled to one? Perhaps not.

I was born very boyish looking, with fairly large (for a Chinese) dark eyes with double eye-lids and features that apparently weren’t terrible Chinese and a large nose with high cheek bones.

As my adolescent best mates grew breasts, mine probably stopped when I was 14 and a half, and it has stayed that way since. With my narrow hips, I was often also called 'no waist' by family members.

Hence, angular, awkward, chicken-legged and dark, I wasn’t exactly anyone’s dream teen girlfriend material, not to hetero- boys that didn’t exist nor the lesbian girls in my Convent school.

Instead, I grew and nurtured my inner Ninja-of feminist traits of confidence and intellectual and emotional strength, and acquired a self-esteem that suffered no fools.

In 6th form, I almost caused a scandal by dating the handsome and most coveted Head-boy, a boy of mixed parentage, Bollywood eye candy of sorts. I quickly discovered that looks aren't everything.

In summer school in Hawaii, I was smitten by a blonde long -haired hippie poet, who introduced me to Jack Kerouac and Milan Kundera, my summer romance, which I thought could pass off as Brad Pitt and he thought my almost purple hair was too beautiful for words.

I had my fair share of boyfriends until I met my better half, with his curly hair and Tin Tin t-shirts and the gentlest, kindest, funniest man in the world, who still rocks my world after 18 years together.

Did I let my body image and pop culture affect my crucial life decisions?

Luckily not.

For I was fortunate enough to be shielded from feeling shite about myself from looking at fashion or lifestyle teen magazines which celebrated sexy bikini- clad models, waif thin, smooth ivory skin, yet with boobs spilling out like no tomorrow. I was cocooned from all media of self-loathing.

-I didn’t have internet websites like Pro -ANA sites giving me thinspiration, no thank you.

-I didn’t have photo-shopped, air- brushed models with 6 -pecs and skinny arms jumping out at me to tell me that I was fat, ugly, gangly, uncoordinated , flat-chested, short.

-I didn’t have K-pop stars who look like fake double- lidded clones, and post -plastic surgery success stories staring at me at tell me that I needed my eye lids fixed, or my bulbous nose streamlined or needed a tummy tuck.

I remembered Karen Carpenter dying of self- inflicted starvation and my no nonsense mother telling me how tragic, silly and unnecessary that was. And I believe her till this day.

So, I never had the propensity starve myself( for I was taught to love food and to enjoy it or go hungry and offend my ancestors), or have the urge to throw up, or to be of one particular skinny, cool, gorgeous look. I did have a hideous Diana Ross perm once and carrot jeans and big T shirts and large loop earrings.

Now, I am so aware, so alarmed and SO TERRIBLE SADDENED, by young girls self- harming or starving themselves to look a certain part or to grab the attention of somebody or create a drama or some show because of popular culture and in internet. Too many, too soon.

I know every child, every teen operates differently.

Kids these days have too much. They roll in a world of excess. Often the fault of indulgent parents who believe they are providing the best. These excesses of wealth, time, social media, have become a paradox of what is really wrong in our society today.

The need to carve the perfect image for social media, the pleas for help, the medium in which young children can vulnerably subject themselves to these threats; that never existed during my years of being an adolescent. From a young age, they have it ingrained in them that they need to look a certain part- fair, light-haired, sharp features, thin. Everything being so instant and constant-Twitter, Instagram, Snapshot.

Pecs , muscles and working- out have become de rigueur lingo for these modern adolescents.

They have so much yet can take so little. With all the excesses, the fragility within seems to have gone on overdrive.

The irony.

Admittedly, on the cusp of turning 42, I’m still not too keen about my seemingly permanent dark eye circles but I know that my slight mummy tummy is a testimony and a souvenir from having given birth naturally to three healthy, delightful, mindful children who I am fiercely and fearlessly protecting from the excesses of self- loathing, self -harm and depression.

I’m blessed that my husband thinks my chicken legs are sexy and that he loves my face, freckles, crooked teeth and all. Even my small boobs, spots of grey hair and all.

So, mothers, love your bodies so your daughters and sons will love them too. We are so guilty of sometimes proclaiming that we feel bloated or fat or have a bad hair day, and surely we are entitled to that, we think, but think of your child, your mentee, your niece, your charge, all listening to those words of self- doubt which may turn into little seeds of self- loathing or a pattern for life-long self-criticism.

We all want happy, healthy, mindful children and we hope we are raising them right. So every day, my kids know that they are lovely, thoughtful, generous, gentle, strong, loving, appreciative, helpful, genuine and kind instead of beautiful, pretty, stunning, slim, or handsome( though my little prince is a self-professed praise junkie).

And oh yes, they have survived many stereotypical situations to do with self-image:

My eldest girl has been classed too black to be Chinese by sales-women in Hong Kong and in KL.

( I tell them I had several husbands, or sometimes I tell them we have Hawaiian blood),

My second daughter gets told she has very Asian eyes and could be Japanese( well did I tell you about the dalliance our fore -mother had with the Emperor?)

Our son gets told he’s very good looking all the time.

( I just tell him not to let it get into his head and no conceit is allowed!)

As for staying fit and healthy, though they are aware of their mum cutting down carbs at dinner time, our family has a fond, fundamental and familial love for cooking and food that they know that not eating is not an option and keeping healthy is. We love it that our three children have healthy, happy appetites and are game for all kinds of cuisine.

Oh, how did we survive body image issues in the 80s? I guess we did survive it all through the heck and lack of it all.

We were lucky not to have the internet. The threatening evil portal where you can be made to feel inadequate, small and ugly. The TV shows of the time did not make me want to do crazy things to myself. I wanted to shoot JR like everyone else, but not myself.

Debbie Gibson and Tiffany just made me want to be wholesome and good.

Unless you are always and constantly keeping your teens in check and that they are lucky enough to have healthy, encouraging peers, or have build a really warm and open relationship with them, it pays to check on the websites and chatrooms that they are on, on their laptops, on their smart phones and in their heads. It's also important to know their friends.

I say this an educator of many teens, and as a self-professed life coach to many students, who in fact gave me that title a few years ago, and as a mother to a teenager, a tween and a 6 year old.

It only takes a tiny nudge before any negative impact on self -body image can spiral completely out of control. Though we are lucky now to have access to psychologists and hospitals which can offer professional help to look after these issues, staying safe is better than sorry.

Love, love, love your children and pray that words like anorexia, bulimia, depression, self-harm and self-loathing are Greek words in your family’s diction.

Every family is different, I know.

Love thyself first and always, and always and forever, keep your children in your circle of faith, hope and love.

---R Dec 10 2013

Why early mornings are my sanctum sanctorum

Why early mornings are my sanctum sanctorum…

Lie- ins? That’s surely a huge lie in my book: come rain or shine, cold or warm, weekday or weekend, I am up and alert by the crack of dawn, mostly by 5.00 am or sometimes earlier. My husband of 15 years has noticed what a mental energizer bunny I am in the morning. As a night owl who normally goes to bed after 11, he has plenty of admiration for people like me who can ping, wake up in the morning mostly without an alarm, and be chirpy and annoying as heck and full of beans.

Sometimes the full of beans bit gets him irritated when he gets all bleary -eyed and struggling to even open his eyes. He looks at me incredulously, and asks, me if I am for real? This is when I wake him up for a bit of loving. Or chatting. Sometimes in the early mornings, I feel most sexy, not that the morning dew or chirping birds act as au naturel aphrodisiacs but by 8.30pm most nights, I am exhausted and weary and I’m already dressed in my clown striped or polka pajamas and would fall asleep reading to my younger children. Not to mention that I pretty much would have packed a full-on 14 hour day before navigating through a quagmire of adult expectations, and I would be completely bushed.

Sometimes, I sing “Morning Has Broken” or “It’s a beautiful day” at the top of my voice in his ear, for a laugh and for him to know his wife is for real. It keeps our marriage intact. Yes, my best energy is often expended fully in the morning.

But it has only been in recent years that we noticed this morning zest which seems to possess me from the hours of 5-9am. My first lessons are always packed potently with high energy activities; my poor poor students raging with teen hormones and very late nights and often inadequate sleep; I feel for them.

I falter a little bit by late morning and if I do carbs for lunch, the witching hour of 2pm sees me on the verge of falling asleep in the middle of my own sentence but there’s always a stash of little mints in my drawer to get that zing back. A power nap of about 5 minutes serves me well at about 4pm if I am home by then. By 7pm I turn into a grumpy witch.

Now, back to my 5.00am love for this part of the day. After my spleen, colon and liver and all that have been recharged, my first activity is a full-on detox session on my private throne where I’m usually on my iPhone catching up on the latest new feeds on Facebook which I would have, horror- stricken, missed from 9-5am- usually reading news links from the NYT, the Atlantic, Salon, France 24, the Guardian and the Elephant Journal. I am neither a yogi or a vegan but I do like my articles on news, life, arts and such. After that it’s at least 30 to 45 minutes of marking and some form of prep for school-without trying to get on my phone or ipad to check on the latest notifications and what not.

Before the advent of such rapid pinging technology, my mornings would best be spent doing some simple yoga twists and meditating and making notes on my writing.

Not checking up on the latest news feeds like every ten minutes. So sometimes, I turn my devices off to not get distracted.

Early mornings is my sanctum sanctorum. Holy of holiest. When I can truly be me.

When you have 3 children and about 100-odd students and a tiny business, all clamouring for your attention of a daily basis, peace and quiet in the morning when you think and perform best is highly valued. No one else is awake before me. The birds gently chirp outside. Your partner’s low humming snore is mildly comforting as you slip out of the fuzzy, soft bed covers and into the master bathroom and claim it all to yourself.

No 6 year old is going to come to declare that Mummy, your poo is smelly and to tell you that there is someone at the door. The dogs are still in semi-sleep and no one else is moving. With a mug of very warm water or sometimes a herbal tea in hand, I sit on my study desk and write, or ponder. Or just be. My mind is acute, sharp.

Some days, I get two hot used tea bags hastily dipped, and lie on my long sofa in my TV room and ponder, be still and think. Or two slices of cold cucumber to sooth my tired early morning eyes.

On holidays, I have caught stunning sunrises and experienced tuna auctions that only happen at dawn. Some days, upon reading some fantastic student essays, I get so carried away with my feedback and comments and award more merits and stars than I would normally do.

Some mornings, well most, I stay still and pray in the darkness before I even get out of bed. I know THEY are listening as I can feel the ‘fissures’ of responses in my being. I pray for all good things for the world, for my family and friends and invite all positive thoughts into my head.

Some days, I write a lot in my organizer or on notes on my phone. The other morning, I wrote out 15 Christmas cards for overseas mailing. I still love good old fashioned snail mail.

Or I arrange cushions and redecorate a little bit. And when Bruno, our terrier wakes up, he comes for a cuddles and nibbles my toes.

Oh, the wonders and possibilities of early mornings. My poetry time. My running time. Sometimes, dog walking time if I’m not marking.

Because by the time the rest of the world wakes up, I’m screwed and scrambling for time that seems to run-away at a second a minute from the loose clutches of my palms.

Only from 5-7, those sacred hours can I preserve my sanctity in my sanctum sanctorum of early morning solitude. I better treasure this for as long as I can as I have noticed of late, that my little boy, has taken after me in being a morning person too. Oh shudder!