#you have obcd

[sunnyvox101]

💋

[kiras-monkey-bum-face]

"what about you, what do you do outside of work?" okay so there's this woman on youtube called amberlynn reid right and-

[broken-hum0r110]

YOLO THIS IS MY FIRST POST ON TUMBLR, WHICH I WONT POST OFTEN, MAINLY JUST REBLOG STUFF❤️

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SO ANYWAYS I HAVE SOME HCS FOR FUN

SENATOR PROTEUS

He **IS** narcissistic.

HE DEFINITELY HAS A CRUSH ON SENTINEL (PRIME).

My man’s dick so rotten he has flies on it

He definitely has one of those dominating, worshipping kinks.

I believe he was JEALOUS of shockwave (other than shockwave’s betraying of the senate, and working alongside basically criminals, and being smart, predicting, etc..), THAT was one of his reasons as to why shockwave had empurata.

The reason he ordered shockwave to get shadowplay(ed) is because proteus KNEW, that shockwave’s explosive(or bipolar) personality would take a toll on the senate. And because shockwave was like that, and liked disrespecting Proteus.. proteus did himself a favor, and proceeded to make a lobotomy, BECAUSE he knew shockwave would be more serious, take stuff seriously, and because it would serve as an advantage to proteus.

My man’s stank. He showers monthly.

HE ONLY USED PERFUME.

IF you smell closely he probably smells like rotten milk.

OCD (OBCD😹😹😹)

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SENATOR RATBAT

MY MAN DEFINITELY GOES OUT FOR SOME FANCY NIGHTS..

Vampire core.

He likes the dark.

He can SEE in the dark.

Obviously, canonly (because of his wings), He’d be a predacon. A flier. A mix of both I say..

HES GOTHIC

He definitely drinks wine 24/7 and liked to visit the poor to insult and flex on them.

Man’s dick is medium sized.

Because of the toys (legacy model), I hc NOT ONLY can he transform into a bat-like animal, but into a submarine. And because as I previously mention (him being part flier), also into a jet.

He likes scaring others. And wearing ANYTHING that’s gold.

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SENATOR SHOCKWAVE

Secretly bipolar.

MANS ESCAPED THE MENTAL ASYLUM 5 TIMES

Used to get therapy.

SEX LIFE BIGGER THAN HIS DICK

Body dysphoria.

LOVES PARTIES

alcoholic.

He IS an asshole. And liked to fight.

Narrow eyes = grumpy looking face. Soft smile = QT PIEE

Because he experiments. He broke his T-cog numerous times and manipulated it. Which means he can transform into whatever he likes, as long as his plating (and/or armor) has more than enough parts.

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*FIN*

[its-ya-girl-phoeni]

@zay-does-things + @awesomegamer1

Bandado: I mean, I kinda have OCD-

Bonnie: You mean OBCD.

(Bandado turns around with a "Did this b***h really just...?" expression)

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 6 - Spilled Slushies

“Often when someone hurts you, they aren’t hurting you because you are you. They are hurting you because they are them.” — Karen Salmansohn

“Oi Diya! Girl get over here! These kids done broke them slush machines!”

With an audible sigh, she dragged her figure across the store. Strewn across the soiled floor were the vibrant contents of the slush machines, the culprits’ sullied shoes dragging the mess even further. Disheartened, she grabbed a nearby mop and dragged it across the floor. “Don’t you get sassy with me girl! Ain’t like I didn’t hear your ungrateful self sighing two minutes ago near the counter,” the manager shrieks. “Clean that mess and get back here. I ain’t paying you a single penny if you ain’t at the checkout by 10.” Brash words from a brash person.

Mopping the dirt-yellow floor, Diya’s eyes drifted onto the ugly neon advert placed just across the store. Despite the disproportionate images and uncoordinated colour scheme, the model in the centre of it seemed to dazzle. Blonde, blue eyes, bright smile. Beautiful. I used to be just like that, she thought. No. I used to be even better.Had fate been gentler to her, Diya’s life would have been completely different, with the job of her dreams and the fame she always wanted. Fame, cameras, money, glitter and glam. A crowd that went crazy at her arrival, the life of a star, the crowd losing their minds as she flashed a bright smile, chanting Diya! Diya! The world would’ve been my oyster, she thought, longing for the girl she was, longing for the girl she could be had she not made such an enormous blunder. If she didn’t need quick cash, Diya would have been all that living amongst the richest, not mopping slush from the dirt-yellow floor of the “century-old” convenience store.

“That’ll be €23.50. Cash or card?” Diya looked up to face the boy she was serving. He couldn’t have been over 16, yet his insolent stare made Diya feel small, helpless. “Cash obvi! It’s common sense, but I guess you don’t have that,” he snickered, throwing a wad of cash at her. Surprised at his misbehaviour, a scowl escaped her lips before she could catch herself. The boy glared at her, snatching the goods before Diya even finished cashing them. “Watch it! Football like you ain’t got no place left for attitude. The only thing you got in you is kilos after kilos of food,” he spat out. Diya shrank within herself. Everywhere around her, the laughs of the people in the store echoed, getting louder and louder. Diya steeled her nerves and removed the boy from the store premises, but that little ball of despair still lingered, eating away at her soul.

“Don’t mind them. You shouldn’t take these things to heart,” a baritone voice spoke as she made her way back to the cashier. Diya lifted her head to look at the man in front of her. Suddenly, she struggled to breathe, breath trapped in her lungs. She knew this man, from a time too long ago. A time in which he was no man, but a boy. A round, helpless boy with a heart too kind. “Earle,” she whispered as she gawked at the person in front of her. He had lustrous blond hair and a chiselled face. He was much skinnier than the first time they met, much muscular than the first time too.

“You… know me?” His bright blue eyes were filled with confusion. Of course, she thought, how would he recognise me as not the person I was before, but an obese person? Regardless, she tried, “It’s me, Diya. I don’t know if you remember, but we met at this very convenience store. Except, I suppose our roles were switched.” She could physically see in his eyes as the pieces fell into place and his confusion cleared. “Oh yeah, I remember. You’re the one who-” “Earlieeeee,” a parrot-like voice screeched.

Earle turned around, waving at a group of people in the store. Diya’s face fell. Those were the people that broke the slush machine. Earle’s gang of friends hopped on forwards to him. Amongst the group was a little kid, the same one she had an altercation with moments prior. “Hey sis,” the kid drawled to one of the girls in the crowd, “this that football-looking dude I was talking to y’all about. Bro, Earle, my dude, don’t tell me you were talking to this,” the kid seemed to be looking for the right selection of words, “cashier? I guess that’s what you’re s’posed to be.” Other people in the group nodded in unison, staring at Earle, waiting for a reply.Diya remembered this scene. She knew what she had done, a shameful act, a desperate one for the semblance of being the ‘popular girl’. She could only hope that Earle would be better, would be a bigger person than she ever was. Fate must have been laughing once again as Earle took one last look at Diya before turning to his friends, his demeanour changing. Gone was that sweet boy that Diya met years ago and in came the vengeful, spiteful guys who became one amongst the countless people that mistreated Diya, perhaps who once mistreated Earle. “Dude, be for real,” he drawled, chuckling. “No way I’m gonna talk to someone like her. Can I even call you a her!” The whole group cackled menacingly as they made their way out of the store. The kid snickered before knocking over a display shelf. The group hooted at her actions, creating chaos before the manager of the store shooed them away.

“That’ll be €23.50. Cash or card?” Diya looked up to face the boy she was serving. He couldn’t have been over 16, yet his insolent stare made Diya feel small, helpless. “Cash obvi! It’s common sense, but I guess you don’t have that,” he snickered, throwing a wad of cash at her. Surprised at his misbehaviour, a scowl escaped her lips before she could catch herself. The boy glared at her, snatching the goods before Diya even finished cashing them. “Watch it! Football like you ain’t got no place left for attitude. The only thing you got in you is kilos after kilos of food,” he spat out. Diya shrank within herself. Everywhere around her, the laughs of the people in the store echoed, getting louder and louder. Diya steeled her nerves and removed the boy from the store premises, but that little ball of despair still lingered, eating away at her soul.

“Don’t mind them. You shouldn’t take these things to heart,” a baritone voice spoke as she made her way back to the cashier. Diya lifted her head to look at the man in front of her. Suddenly, she struggled to breathe, breath trapped in her lungs. She knew this man, from a time too long ago. A time in which he was no man, but a boy. A round, helpless boy with a heart too kind. “Earle,” she whispered as she gawked at the person in front of her. He had lustrous blond hair and a chiselled face. He was much skinnier than the first time they met, much muscular than the first time too.

“You… know me?” His bright blue eyes were filled with confusion. Of course, she thought, how would he recognise me as not the person I was before, but an obese person? Regardless, she tried, “It’s me, Diya. I don’t know if you remember, but we met at this very convenience store. Except, I suppose our roles were switched.” She could physically see in his eyes as the pieces fell into place and his confusion cleared. “Oh yeah, I remember. You’re the one who-” “Earlieeeee,” a parrot-like voice screeched.

Earle turned around, waving at a group of people in the store. Diya’s face fell. Those were the people that broke the slush machine. Earle’s gang of friends hopped on forwards to him. Amongst the group was a little kid, the same one she had an altercation with moments prior. “Hey sis,” the kid drawled to one of the girls in the crowd, “this that football-looking dude I was talking to y’all about. Bro, Earle, my dude, don’t tell me you were talking to this,” the kid seemed to be looking for the right selection of words, “cashier? I guess that’s what you’re s’posed to be.” Other people in the group nodded in unison, staring at Earle, waiting for a reply.Diya remembered this scene. She knew what she had done, a shameful act, a desperate one for the semblance of being the ‘popular girl’. She could only hope that Earle would be better, would be a bigger person than she ever was. Fate must have been laughing once again as Earle took one last look at Diya before turning to his friends, his demeanour changing. Gone was that sweet boy that Diya met years ago and in came the vengeful, spiteful guys who became one amongst the countless people that mistreated Diya, perhaps who once mistreated Earle. “Dude, be for real,” he drawled, chuckling. “No way I’m gonna talk to someone like her. Can I even call you a her!” The whole group cackled menacingly as they made their way out of the store. The kid snickered before knocking over a display shelf. The group hooted at her actions, creating chaos before the manager of the store shooed them away.

“Did you really think that this would work? Like I’m not gonna be friends with u just cuz u said sry. Don’t txt me ever again. Anywhere.”

Diya scrambles, panicking. She sits up and types furiously, fingers flying on the keyboard. A rushed reply, but a reply nonetheless. She has to ask him for forgiveness. But she could never send the message, not when the bright red sign appeared on her screen:

itsyaboiyaeger.sasageyo has blocked you.

Days passed since that unfortunate incident. Diya moved on, but she never forgot, never would have forgiven Earle for his crude behaviour if she hadn’t thought she deserved it. What did I expect, she thought, ashamed, that all would be nice and well just ‘cause he’s all fit and muscular, and I am the same way he was back then? Get over yourself, Diya. She never held a grudge, never acted out. She simply… moved on.

Ding! Her phone rang out. Curious, she opened her phone to see… “They’re live!” Diya was delighted! Her favourite influencer was live on social media. I’ve never seen another influencer’s live before, she thought, intrigued. Clicking on the live logo flashing on her screen, she entered the live… only to find out that it was a live fan call. Her screen camera buzzed to life, presenting her face for the world to see. Terror seized her limbs. They’ll see my face, she thought, horrified, they’ll see how beastly I am. They’ll mock me. They’ll tease me. They’ll…

“Oh! I see we have a new follower joining our call. Everyone say hello to @diya.elostra! Uh, do I have to say ‘heart sign’ too?” Her username —  @diya.elostra♡ — flashed onto the screen as she felt all eyes land on her video. “No, don’t look at me,” she stuttered out, alarmed. Diya frantically tapped on the video off button but to no avail. She was ready to break the phone if she had to. Sensing her fear, the influencer said, “Hey, Miss Elostra. It’s fine, you know? We’re chill here, it’s just a call for fun.” “But I’m ugly to see,” the words escaped her before she could even process them. The influencer’s eyes soften, a wistful smile creeping up their lips. Even an avatar feels sympathetic towards me, Diya thought, flustered.

“Miss Elostra,” the influencer says with a soft sternness. Like a mother scolding their kid, Diya thought, flustered once again. “First of all, nobody is ugly. Sure, some people have different preferences. But ugly? That’s a word too strong to use on anyone. So, you’re not ugly. Second of all, I saw the way you were tryna hide yourself. You’re not ugly ‘cause you’re… I don’t know, round, maybe above weight. You’re you. Ain’t nothing gonna change that. You don’t have to be pretty, or — like you said — ugly or fat or skinny to be you.” Diya looks at her screen, wet from all the tears she shed. Why was this person being so kind? It’s probably for more followers, a hideous voice in her head seethed.

“Now I know, I’m a gym instructor typa person,” the influencer stated, “but trust me, I’m no oil painting. Yet I still post these videos. Yet I still go to the gym, have fun, live my life. Yet I still try to stay healthy and happy. That’s ‘cause losing weight and staying fit aren’t things anyone should do for beauty or followers or any of that kinda stuff. These are things one should do for their health. They should do it for the special moments in life. So that in 40, 50 years, when they are all old and wrinkly, they can still smile, still stay with all those they love. It’s so that they can experience all that life has to offer. Because, and trust me on this, life has a LOT to give. And none of us wants to stay chained up to a hospital bed anytime soon. We all want to live, to breathe, to jump around and be the kids we all are at heart. And a few followers on some Instagram accounts shouldn’t be the ones trying to stop you from achieving all that. No one should. You get what I’m saying, Miss Elostra? Stay fit for you, not for others.” Diya watched, spellbound, as all the other people voiced their agreement. People of all shapes and sizes, people of all ages, and people of all colours. Everyone agreed.

With tears in her eyes and a dazzling smile on her face, Diya left the call. She looked at a picture she always kept beside her bed. A picture of the Diya that she was. A picture of that Diya that she will no longer be.

For that Diya only loved fame, only loved beauty. And this Diya is nothing like that.

[maipareshaan]

Alr reading aloud "You don't have OCD, you have OBCD" KILLS me.

[frenchfatadmirer]

Are you sure those are the right letters? Cause to me it looks like you have an obcd problem

I think I have a kfc problem 😳

[bullets4mymcrgun]

OBCD

I think the scariest part of being overweight and losing weight is when you reach a point where people treat you like a human person again. There's a huge reason most will develop an ED in the middle of that weird transition process. What do you mean 99% of men will not look at you while speaking to you until you're at least under a certain amount of lbs? What do you mean unknown women won’t suggest diets all the time (fuck keto btw)? It's a whole different world of people that you will never meet or be spoken by unless you're lower than obese. And when you've been overweight your whole life you can’t even grasp the damn universe you don’t know about. 

I think the “mean girl who used to be overweight but got skinny” phenomenon is not about mean girls at all. Wouldn’t you also be a little angry? Realizing half the shit you were excluded from and didn’t even know you were being excluded? Obviously not a reason to be a dick at other people about it. But I'm never surprised when it happens. I dont think it's about them most of the time. 

You either get bitter or become a better (empathic) person. And yeah of course most people will press the first option. What is this, degrassi?

As much as i dislike people like (censored morbidly obese influencer) or (other problematic youtuber) i understand their world is so much angrier than most will ever live in. Now completely aside from their problematic behavior… I’m saying; At their size people will scoff at you in public. Unprovoked. People will avoid you. Some people will reject you before you even talk. Bigger people will point at you and say “well at least i'm not as fat as that guy”. You are not another person next to them at that point. People will straight up tell them they’re going to die every other day. I’m sorry but it's an insane way of living and most people don’t realize. I remember when (censored) got cancer and people were so angry at them for not losing weight after. Like I don't like them either but… for a different body people WILL be a lot kinder when they have fucking cancer... In a bigger body its just “so when are you losing weight? What are you doing to lose weight? Do you wanna DIE? DIE? DIE? How can you eat fast food right now?! Why are you killing yourself? Die die die”. Don't even get me started on how personally offended people get when a bigger person gets weight loss surgery.

People believe being in the slightest sympathetic to your struggle is just “enabling”.

Do you realize how shocking it is to lose weight and be human again?

[awesomecoolswaggirl]

"i have ocd" "you mean obcd" SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 11 - maybe a Doctor

"To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless."

— G.K. Chesterton

A burning fire, a raging storm. The patience of a saint with the passion of a dreamer.

3 years ago, Diya Elostra wanted change. She wanted to fight for her people. Her people, whose lives hung on the balance of their weight, their looks, their beauty. She wanted to fight for them, so they could live another day, so they could have a person — even if it is the only person — who they could confide in. unabashed. So that they can bare themselves to that person, and that person wouldn't dig into their wounds with harrowing words — words that her people have been hearing for a time too long, words that festered in their wounds like parasites — but words that soothed those jagged, ripped scars, brushing over their wounds like silk feathers. Words that taught them how to love, not to hate.

Diya Elostra wanted change.

So, she became the change.

"Cheers to our change! Here's to finally being able to afford a place together and to our infamous #BeTheChange influencer, Diya!" The discordant arrangement of glass on glass echoed in the spacious room. Seated on the pristine tiled floors of their new, shared loft, Diya's friends improvised a toast, sipping on apple juice from sparkling wine glasses. Giggling, Diya set her glass aside before flopping onto the cool floors of their new home. Her inner child was overwhelmed. Everything she had ever wanted, her perfect little life, her own brand new story. No words could ever describe the joy she felt, the way her soul sang with the colours of the rainbow, the way each day seemed a little more brighter, a little more happier, the way each mirror mattered less and less, and each smile mattered more and more. A broad smile decorated her features, hazel eyes forming little crescent moons.

Her view of the polished wooden ceiling was soon crowded with her friends peeking at her face, beaming at her child-like expression. Abruptly, she sat up, knocking her friends' heads. "Yo! What are you secretly a bull or what," one of her friends complained, rubbing her forehead, "no warning, nothing. Just Whack!" Diya stared at her friends, head tilted, a mischievous light in her shiny eyes. An unexpected giggle escaped her lips, then another, and another, before she broke into a fit of giggles. The sight of their friend rolling around on the floor, hysterical, sent Diya's friends into peals of laughter. Soon enough, the tiny room was filled with the sound of wholesome laughter. Struggling for breath, Diya wiped her tears before asking, "You guys wanna - giggles - go to the beach?" "Sure," one of her friends replied, grappling for some semblance of composure, "the weather's looking great!" All laughter died down as the group of friends looked at each other, impish grins all over.

"Last one down is a blobfish!" Diya and her friends raced downstairs, heading towards the beach in a flurry of snickers and hollering.

Standing at the edge of the beach, Diya's gaze fluttered over the broad horizon. A majestic expanse of crystal-clear water swirled in front of her. Luscious waves flowed towards her feet, wetting the tips of her toes. All around her, turquoise waves washed away small seashells and clumps of sand, dragging her down as the ground gave way underneath her. A yacht, seemingly miniature in the distance, merrily skipped along her view. The harsh, strong gusts of wind drowned out the raucous music and the cheering of her friends. Raven hair prettily framed her face before eventually forming a mess of dark clouds as she desperately attempted to fix her hair against the wind's efforts.

Admitting defeat, she blew out hair from her face before heading back to her beach mat. The sun was slowly setting, the sky splattered with wild streaks of purple, orange and royal blue. Diya watched in awe as the sun disappeared behind the sparkling curtain that was the ocean. The very first stars were peeking from behind the disappearing clouds. The hopeful glimmer of the stars reflected onto the ocean as though it was a mirror, mirroring the very stars that framed her irises. The faint glow of lights came from the yacht, now impossibly smaller, shying away from Diya's sight like a new bride.

What a beautiful view this is, Diya thought, her very being filled to the core with admiration. Although that starry-eyed admiration didn't last long, as the harsh winds returned once again, stabbing her bare arms with ice-cold daggers. Teeth chattering, Diya put on a coat, the colour of night, a stark contrast to the pale white of her dress. But fashion was the last thing on her mind while her brain went into flight-or-fight mode against the freezing wind. Settling down, her face morphed into a dream-like trance as she gazed at the night sky. This was the new Diya, romanticising every aspect of her life. That glorious tranquillity was short-lived, however, as her friends splashed her with seawater.

Sputtering, Diya glared at her friends, a smirk slowly forming. "Oh it's on," she claimed before hopping after her friends, chasing them down in the glimmering moonlight.

The worst part of any trip is the packing and unpacking. Diya's move to her new place was no different. Scheming to avoid any labour, she had proposed going to the beach. However, upon returning home, Diya and her friends were flabbergasted. Completely gobsmacked. Their home was a complete and utter mess. Clothes hung from the staircase rails, boxes were piled in every corner of their home, paperwork was strewn across the floor, and shoes were heaped onto one another. "Y'all know what? I'm just gonna sleep here," one of her friends declared, before slumping in the midst of the mess. "Me too." "Same here." "Yup." Chuckling, Diya joined them in a heap of limbs, hair and grumbles.

"Hey, you guys wanna see the pics we took today?" Opening her phone, she began scrolling through today's pictures, her friends occasionally commenting on certain images.

The rush of adrenaline she felt coursing through her veins had soon worn off, losing any effect. Yawning, she glanced around to find her friends dead asleep, some snoring, some flopping around like fish. Understandable, she thought, groaning as she felt sleep and fatigue seeping deep into her bones. "It's been a long day," she whispered to no one in particular. If any of her friends heard it, it would be their little secret moment together. At 3 in the morning, the world is asleep, slightly humming at most, like a machine that keeps on working, day and night, even when everyone and everything else rests.

Getting up from the mess of limbs and snores that were her friends, Diya made her way to the balcony. She loved this time of the night, when no one was awake, except maybe her. When moonlight painted the landscape a silvery white and the lone bird sang its lonely song. She could see the ocean from where she stood, serene and regal. She loved this time of the night, when there was no movement, except maybe the slight rustle of leaves in the soft breeze. The blissful silence is captivating, intimidating even.

She could see the café in front of her loft. My loft and my friends' loft, she corrected herself. The café was always open and at this hour of the night, very few frequented the place. Very few, such as the musician that scribbled onto a piece of paper, perhaps the lyrics of his newest composition. Very few, such as the writer that frantically typed onto her computer, perhaps writing down a brilliant idea before it vanished into the night. The cup of coffee she had ordered lay disregarded. Even from such a distance, Diya could see wisps of steam curling away from the cup. She's so dedicated. I bet she'll be an aspiring writer, Diya wondered. The door to the café opened, revealing the young, lone barista that worked in the café. Maybe they too worked at such late hours before they too, enjoyed the peace. Maybe. Perhaps.

Her phone buzzed, breaking the all-encompassing silence. Stretching, she unlocked her phone before opening her Instagram. The colourful notification matched the colourful joy she felt every time she checked her infamous hashtag — #BeTheChange. She had never expected her plan to work. And it didn't, at least, not initially.

"Diya, how did the hashtag go," her friends asked once again. She replied once again, "I'm the only person to have seen and posted something with that hashtag. And no one even saw my post." "I'm sure it'll work out... eventually."

Diya was tired of waiting for that 'eventually'. Months passed by, yet no one ever saw that hashtag. It wasn't that she wasn't famous enough, she had countless followers. Yet none of them wanted to be the change she wished to bring about. Maybe this was a mistake, Diya thought. Opening her post, she was close to deleting it before her friends barged in, snatching the phone from her hands.

"What," Diya asked, sulking. "Dude, stop sulking and refresh your Insta. LOOK," her friends squealed. Refreshing, Diya saw that millions of people began posting with the hashtag #BeTheChange. Scrolling through some of the posts, Diya looked at her friends, gleaming. This was her dream. This was her change. Hugging her friends, she whispered, "So, we became the change."

Ever since that day, the hashtag blew up on social media. Each day, thousands of people posted with that hashtag. And each day, she loved to see those posts, liking, commenting and encouraging people to post with #BeTheChange. Today was no different.

890K people created reels using your hashtag #BeTheChange

Diya scrolled through the posts, liking and occasionally commenting as well. She would have spent more time doing this had it not been the dead of night. Sleepy, her focus went on not dropping her phone from three stories up rather than watching all the posts. She was sure to fall asleep standing had it not been for a rather surprising post. Rattling her, she rubbed her eyes, standing straight once again. She knew this man, this man who she had once wronged, but who had once wronged her as well. This man from a time in which he was no man, but a boy. This man from a time in which she asked for forgiveness, yet he hurt her in return. Lustrous blond hair, a chiselled face, muscular, yet this time he seemed so much more kinder.

Rubbing her eyes again, she looked at the username — itsyaboiyaeger.sasageyo. Earle had posted using her hashtag. He had posted using #BeTheChange. He's... a doctor? Diya thought, confused, he sure dressed like one. In the post, Earle was talking about diets and eating disorders, encouraging people to lose weight to be healthy, not to look pretty. It's just like my favourite influencer, she thought, amazed. They were the light in my dark times and now maybe Earle can be the light in someone else's darkest moments. Proud, she liked the post. Immediately, she received a follow request.

itsyaboiyaeger.sasageyo requested to follow you.

Surprised, she hesitated. Wait, let me check if this post was sincere, she decided. And sure enough, Earle wasn't being a hypocrite. All his posts were dedicated to body positivity and fighting eating disorders. Diya was at a crossroads. She could hold grudges and not follow him back, or she could try to do what she should have done seven years ago when she was 15. Scrolling further, she thought, huh, maybe he is a doctor.

And maybe, I will follow him back.

diya.elostra♡ requested to follow you.

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 10 - New! Message

“It’s not an easy journey, to get to a place where you forgive people. But it is such a powerful place, because it frees you.”

— Tyler Perry

Cruel years, cruel months, cruel days.

Harsh words, harsh actions.

Spite, hatred, revenge.

And guilt. So much guilt. 

“No way I’m gonna talk to someone like her. Can I even call you a her!”

Forgiveness? He wasn’t deserving of her forgiveness. He had been so cruel when she had only been ashamed. He had been horrible when she had only wanted friendship. He wasn’t deserving of her forgiveness. He was despicable. He doubts his friends even remember. He doubts they recall what happened seven years ago. No, he thought, 7 years, 8 months, 2 weeks and 3 days. He remembered. He remembered very well. Earle remembered very well.

Diya. Oh, poor Diya. Earle knew that his behaviour was inexcusable, regardless of how she acted towards him. He should have been the bigger person. He should have been better. He should have been-

“Yo Earlie boy. Where ya mind at?” Earle’s eyes snapped towards his friend, then towards the floor. An enormous stack of books lay at his feet. His head swivelled around. Everyone was gawking at him weirdly. “Dude,” his friend interrupted, “you really had to drop the fat medical books in a library? Bro, they gon’ be gossiping ‘bout this for the next two weeks. Ain’t got nothing to talk ‘bout ‘cept this!” So many books. So much to learn. Sometimes he regretted his decision of wanting to become a doctor. Sometimes he felt he had to do this for the people suffering the same way he suffered. For people with eating disorders.

His people.

He’s an adult now. Old, yes. Guilty, definitely. Mature, absolutely not. Tall, blond, muscular. Doctor? Maybe a doctor… He doesn’t really know. He just… exists. Studying, going to the gym, making friends. Just existing. He’s honestly exhausted. Very exhausted.

An aspiring student by day, a famous influencer by night. Not just any influencer — a body-positive influencer. His message aimed to fight eating disorders and unrealistic body standards. He’d share his knowledge for the world to learn. He’d help anyone. They’d just have to admit that it isn’t a weakness, but a show of great strength. Everyone should always be themselves. Earle loved himself. He wished more people did so too.

Boring. Class was boring. He was tired and all his mind could register was hunger. Boring. Yawning, he sneaked his phone underneath his desk, opening social media. Also boring. What, he thought, gloomily. I should post something new. I’m hungry. What’s tomorrow? I’m bored. I’mboredI’mboredI’mboredI’mbored.

“-example is Miss Diya Elostra.” W h a t. Earle’s head shot up. I’m not bored, I guess. Displayed on the colossal whiteboard was Diya’s Instagram account. When did this become Influencer 101? Despite his silly jokes and ‘don’t care’ attitude, a part of him panged with guilt. She looks happier, healthier, he thought. No thanks to you, a tiny voice said, ashamed, sorry, disheartened. Guiltyguiltyguiltyguiltyguiltyguilty.

“This body-positive influencer here has jump-started one of the most popular hashtags in your generation. It’s a trend that not only focuses on eating disorders, which is your current chapter, but everything in life that’s wrong. #BeTheChange. Quite subjective, if you ask me. But I believe that was her very intention. One hashtag, one million targets.” The lesson continued as always. Earle’s mind wandered. It always did. He could never focus. “#BeTheChange, huh,” he murmured. You should do it, that tiny voice squeaked. You will never be able to meet Diya, never be able to ask for forgiveness. But maybe you can try. Maybe you can apologise, one message at a time. One saved life at a time…”

“Hello, guys! What’s up, it’s Earle right here. Today, I’ll be talking about eating disorders and other related stuff. Firstly, I’d like to dedicate this video to the #BeTheChange influencer, Diya Elostra. You see, back when I was a kid, I wasn’t always this handsome. I used to be round and pudgy and, well… I used to get bullied. A lot. Sometimes, people used to…”

He spent day and night, perfecting his video. Sharing his message. He might never be able to meet Diya. But he can apologise. And he can save others. He can do this, and he will do this.

One message at a time.

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 9 - Be The Change

“Knowing what's right doesn't mean much unless you do what's right.”

— Theodore Roosevelt

Passion, perseverance, persistence, productiveness — Diya was never short of these qualities. She might have left her dream once but she would never again. Not when fate finally gave her a second chance at success. Years after years of rejection, of hearing she’s not the best, she was finally accepted somewhere. Like a phoenix, she would rise from the ashes. No longer would she be anything but the best. No longer would she let anyone or anything bring her down. Examining the letter in her hands, a proud smile made its way on her face as her eyes landed on the letter’s sender — Cambridge School of Visual & Performing Arts. No longer would she break the promises she made to her inner child, who resurfaced once again. No longer would she quell her hope. The fire had charred her, burnt her to the ground, and out of the ashes, like a phoenix, emerged Diya Elostra — the best of the best, valedictorian. 

A flurry of suitcases, a rush of airports and a 9-hour flight later, Diya found herself at her destination. A quaint area, tall buildings, a new beginning. Just what she needed. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and entered her new dorm. It was the start of the academic year, her roommates just as excited as her about the adventures to come and the friendships to be made. Simple introductions, great possibilities, for any one of her roommates could grow to be her lifelong friend. Settling into her new life, she observed the dainty room. Oakwood frames, simple furniture, soft and small beds, and a window leading to a beautiful outdoors. It’s perfect, Diya thought, content. A few quiet moments later, she headed outdoors, passing by the hustle and bustle of newcomers. Everywhere she looked, Diya could see art, she could see fashion. Everything that stood for the Cambridge School of Visual & Performing Arts.

The soothing summer breeze accompanied by the bright and colourful outdoors calmed her agitated nerves. She was nervous, that much was as clear as day. But she was also happy. She had a purpose in life, just like those flocks of sparrows that tittered by, looking for food, shelter, with purpose. Strolling around the natural setting of the outdoors of the institution, Diya saw a wonderfully furnished gym. Inside, there were people of all shapes and sizes, of all ages, genders and colours. Stay fit for you, not for others, the words of her favourite influencer resurfaced in her mind. Intrigued, she planned to visit the gym someday. Someday when I don’t feel like my limbs will fall off, she thought, giggling at her own antics.

“Hey, you’re that IG girl, right?” One of Diya’s roommates asked her as they were heading out for dinner. “You know,” she continued, “that fitness influencer was talking to you about losing weight and stuff.” That was phrased awfully, Diya wondered, anyone else hears this out of context and they’ll think the influencer was insulting me. “Uh,” Diya tried, “ I think you mean that influencer that was motivating me? If so then yeah, that’s me.” Her roommates looked at her in awe. “Dude, you’re so different now. Like completely ripped,” one of them remarked. Diya blushed. She had tried to improve her condition, starting by improving one aspect at a time, but she never realised the extent to which she changed. But looking at her roommates’ eyes, she saw that there was no mockery, only pride, only astonishment. Diya smiled a gentle smile, perhaps the first genuine smile she smiled in a long time.

A compliment, if heard too often, turns into an insult, insincere or simply loses its effect. Everyday, ever since she came here, people have been constantly complimenting her, asking if she was “that IG girl”. It would have been bearable if it was only the people she knew, but even those that she never met before began asking her and commenting on her appearance.

Her gym day was no different. The receptionist was the first person to catch Diya’s eyes. Blonde, blue eyes, not much older than her, the lady seemed to not care about who she was, just what her student ID was. Finally, Diya thought, relieved, someone who doesn’t know me. But what she didn’t realise was that the receptionist hadn’t seen her face yet. The moment her eyes landed on Diya’s ID, a switch flipped in her. “Oh. My. God. You’re that IG girl,” she squealed. Not again, Diya thought, rolling her eyes. “Oh my god! How does it feel to be motivated by the most popular gym influencer? Oh, you’re coming to this gym! How did you lose so much weight? How…” She droned on, as Diya walked into the gym, ignoring her.

Entering the gym, she gawked at all the men and women. The amount of muscle and veins popping in that one room alone would have sent orthopaedic surgeons and nurses into a frenzy. They’d be over the moon if they saw this, Diya snickered. Compared to them, Diya looked like a stickman. But that didn’t faze her. Nothing would. Because she wasn’t doing this to be like them. She was doing this to be fit. However, she would be lying if she didn’t feel like she was in a Hollywood movie. Moments before Diya hopped onto a treadmill, a man the size of a mountain loomed over her. “Holy-,” Diya fell backwards, caught off guard by the man’s appearance. In her defence, the guy looked like Dwayne Johnson mixed with John Cena. Yet his personality was like that of a golden retriever. “Hiya,” the man said in a high-pitched voice. Diya looked up from the floor, bewildered. That voice and that body. It was like if Doraemon had a field day in the gym. “H-hey,” Diya stuttered, trying not to laugh in order to not seem rude. “Oh my god,” the man squealed, “Are you the Diya Elostra who was on call with my favvv influencer. Oh em gee, you’re like ripped and so cool. Please teach me to be like youuu.” Diya sat there, awkwardly silent. What did he sayy, she thought. This was like a fever dream but if the fever dream accidentally had poisoned mushrooms.

Her awkward encounter with the man she dubbed as Mr Ripped Doraemon had gathered quite the crowd. A group of girls across her pulled out their phones, long acrylic nails clattering on the keyboard. They seemed to be chewing gum but the way their mouths moved looked so weird. They look kinda like goats, Diya thought, before shaking her head, gosh, why am I so mean? I would definitely get cancelled should anyone hear my thoughts. My thoughts are literally like all that is talked about in a friend group chat.

One of the girls sauntered ahead, phone haphazardly held in one hand. “Hey giiirls,” she singsonged, “ain’t this that Diya girl, you know, the dumb body influencer who got fat fat?” “Gosh, what is she wearing,” one of the other girls, scrutinised. “Haha, she looks so dumb,” another one said. “Hey,” shouted Mr Ripped Doraemon, “you girlies are just jealous cuz none of y’all can look like her even if you tried. Them acrylic nails ain’t giving, darling.” Right before her very eyes, a fully-fledged fight erupted — people supporting Diya versus people hating on Diya. Diya questioned, All this over who’s Miss Body Goals? From the corner of her corner, she saw the administration entering the gym, fuming. “That’s my cue,” she announced, darting out of the gym.

Back in her dorm, Diya couldn’t shake off the guilty feeling. All those people, she thought, there must be so many people who were badly affected by my posts. Sitting up, she decided that no longer would that hurtful account be her identity. No longer will she just be the “IG girl”. Taking her phone, she deleted all her old accounts, replacing them with new ones. That old fire of fame had charred her, burnt her to the ground, and out of the ashes, like a phoenix, emerged Diya Elostra — body positivity influencer, not Miss Body Goals.

Diya’s new accounts quickly rose in popularity. But she wasn’t satisfied. Yes, she posted positive comments, yes she tried to promote body positivity and yes she was famous. But she didn’t want to be famous. She wanted to be a tsunami. She wanted to make a wave so big that no petty comment could break it. She wanted to make a storm, a powerful one that would destroy all social stigma against needing help, getting help. She wanted a thunder oh so loud that everyone would have to hear the truth, everyone would have to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth. For getting help isn’t a weakness, it’s a show of strength. She wanted a calamity for all things negative, a flood that would wipe the slate clean. She wanted change.

So, she decided to be the change.

“Diya, you know the whole old account, new account thing,” her roommate asked her one day as they were jogging. It was the crack of dawn and the world never seemed newer, cleaner. Be the change, a voice spoke… no. It commanded. “Yeah,” Diya said, “what about it?” “So, I was thinking… and you can totally disagree, no biggie. But what if, instead of the hashtags that you used to spread about ‘being the best’ and ‘body goals’ — which were kinda weird if I’m being honest-” Diya winced. “Sorry girl, but you know it’s true. Anyways, what if we make a hashtag, but this time, it’s like… ultra positive?”

“An ultra-positive hashtag,” Diya repeated, thinking. “It’s a good idea, but do you really think people will listen to me after all the chaotic events that I’ve been a part of? I swear, people make such weird videos about me. I saw one saying I was in jail for like murder or something.” Her roommate laughed, “Well, so what? You’re Diya — you say what you think and ain’t nobody been able to stop you from doing so. And so what if people make such videos? They’ll do anything they can for attention and that’s no good.

Seek respect, not attention. It lasts longer.”

Diya lay in her bed, evaluating her next moves. A video? A post? A story? None of her ideas seemed powerful enough to bring about that storm she dared to dream of. She researched ideas, none of them were strong, she asked friends, her roommate’s idea-generating capacity stopped at her speech from earlier that morning. No one was able to present an answer worthy of execution. Disappointed, Diya decided to proceed with a simple post online.

Makeup bags, messy closet, tutorials online. Diya finally deemed herself presentable. With the help of her roommates, she took simple but delicate pictures. Beautiful pictures, all aesthetically pleasing and cute. Body goals, she thought, before she stopped. The entire point of this was to break those standards. Yet, old habits die hard. No matter how hard she tried, she resorted to her old ways. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she examined her looks. The person in the mirror was her, it would always be her. But whether it would be the real Diya would be up to Diya herself. And right now, it was Diya, albeit not the Diya she wanted to be. I look… pretty, she thought. “You were pretty before,” her reflection countered, “you will always be pretty, nothing can change that. People might call you ugly, hideous, unpleasant to see, but who are they to judge what you are? No amount of physical beauty will ever be as valuable as a beautiful heart. So have heart. Have heart and be the change.”

Diya shot out of her bed. Wiping all traces of makeup, she changed from the beautiful dress she wore to her ordinary clothes. That dress felt like it was full of labels, she thought, relieved at the familiar feel of her normal clothes. Why bother looking ‘cute’ if you’re just gonna be uncomfortable? Changed, she looked at her reflection once again. She looked… homey. Normal. “No,” she thought, “I don’t look normal. I look like me.” She didn’t bother taking pretty pictures. She didn’t need a pretty picture. She needed a real one. Taking a selfie, she posted it online, with a hashtag that truly reflected her inner self. With a hashtag that would always be Diya, would always be everyone in the whole wide world.

#BeTheChange

Be the change. A fire roared in her soul. Be the change. A fire that would burn all the negativity, leaving not chaos, but peace in its wake. Be the change. She wanted to be a tsunami.  Be the change. A wave so big that no petty comment could break it. Be the change. She wanted a storm. Be the change. A powerful storm that would destroy all social stigma against needing help. Be the change. Against receiving help. Be the change. She wanted thunder. Be the change. A thunder loud enough that everyone would have to listen. Be the change. To hear the truth and to speak the truth. Be the change. For getting help isn’t a weakness, it’s a show of strength. Be the change. She wanted calamity for all things negative. Be the change. A flood that would wipe the slate clean. Be the change. She wanted change. Be the change.

So, she became the change.

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 8 - My People

“To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.”

— Criss Jami

Doctors, medicine, patient, diagnosis, therapy, support. Truthfully, Diya was surprised. She had expected the worst when she had revealed her troubles to her parents. They were nice people, amazing even, yet she had assumed the worst. Maybe, she hoped for the best. But she had never foreseen what was happening to her now. She had been to countless doctors, nutritionists, dieticians, therapists, even those she believed she did not need. As sweet as the gesture was, she was overwhelmed. A moment ago she struggled to reveal herself to her parents and now she was forced to do so in front of a complete stranger she had only made acquaintance with a few minutes ago.

“Relax,” her mother said, smoothing her dress, “the therapist will only listen to what you have to say. Anything really.” Sweet words from her sweet mother, with no effect on her nerves. She felt like she was 10, forced to go to the doctor’s alone. Not that she ever experienced that, but in her frantic mind, the two scenarios seemed the same. Diya considered running away quite frequently. Too frequently, she thought, teeth chattering. She was never this nervous before. I used to be so cool, so easygoing, she reminisced, thinking back to when she was skinny. No, she thought, I wasn’t skinny, I was underweight. Two different things, Diya. Focus.

A nervous smile, an awkward wave. Diya went inside her therapist’s office, steeling herself as the white double doors shut close.

“You know, I think we should change our GP,” her father announced as they were leaving the doctor’s office. “Like, I’m grateful he taught us what we need to know about Diya’s illness but like are the number of specialists he suggested really enough? I want to cure my daughter of this issue she developed.” “Issues I  developed,” Diya repeated with barely concealed anger. She knew she shouldn’t be rude, knew that her parents only meant the best for her. But, the statement was so extremely accusatory, she couldn’t be helped but feel as though it rubbed her the wrong way. “I mean yeah, if you didn’t have that social media, we wouldn’t have to do this. I know you were uncomfortabl-” “Uncomfortable?” Diya couldn’t help it anymore. “Yes, I was uncomfortable because it was the first time I met this therapist. We never continued these sessions with one long enough for me to be comfy. And what does my social media have to do with this? Yes, it’s partially the reason, but not ALL OF IT.” Stomping away, Diya ignored her parents’ cries of protest. I can’t do this right now, she thought, exasperated.

Diya had been angry. She had been angry for quite a few days. But she could never stay angry for too long. Could never really hold a grudge. So as she sulkily trudged down for dinner, she decided to make her peace and say her piece as well. “So,” she began, clearing her throat, “I hope you guys… realised that what you said a few days ago was really hurtful. And while I am sorry to lash out like that…” She looked at her parents, meaningfully. Grumbling, they never verbally apologised to her. But she knew they were sorry. At least, she hoped that the extra few pieces of pizza they left for her symbolised their apologies. This was the way they’d communicate. Very rarely with verbal words of affirmation or affection. Always with small acts of service, a warm home-cooked meal left in front of your room when it was just one of those days, a new outfit by your bed when you just complained about not having enough to wear, laundry neatly folded and that small checklist ticked in red ink when you know you always use green for finished tasks. Her parent’s love was gentle, soft, and quiet. She didn’t need to hear those “I love you’s”, she felt them every day.

“Eat your food, it’s getting cold,” her father mumbled, pretending to not pay attention. But the way he warmed her cold food without having to ever be asked said more than words could ever convey. Wait, I’m going off-track. Clearing her throat once again and taking on a stern pose, she said, “So, I saw this one community group for people with my type of eating disorders. And I’m going, no objection, no nothing.” Beady eyes scanned her parents’ faces for any signs of disagreement, she huffed, victorious. Not that she would ever go if they had said no, they knew that as well as she did. But she still liked to feel that little bit of adulthood they’d allowed her to feel.

Community support group, here I come…

Awkwarddd, her brain singsonged at the worst possible moment. She had been very dedicated and bold as head out of her home to the community support group. But with the combination of awkward introverted personalities and awkward environment, the whole group was quiet. She knew that someone had to step up and be the extroverted introvert, but she also knew that she would rather die than be that someone. Or maybe she would live and be that someone. “Uh….. heyy guys. So, my name is Diya. Diya Elostra. What… are your names?” “Oh, I’m Ara.” “I’m Josh.” “I’m Warner, Lyn Warner.” “I’m Jake.” One by one, the whole group of introverts turned that very awkward environment into a safe space. My people, Diya thought, smiling to herself.

“So, in the beginning, I really used to hate food. Like I could never eat something without having to throw up afterwards.” “For me, it wasn’t that bad. But when I looked in the mirror, I saw a monster that I never wanted to be. And so I lost weight, And I lost weight. Until I ended up in the E.R.” So many stories, so many genres. Yet not one person used to bat an eye, not one person flipped the pages over and read their stories. I’ll be that person, Diya promised herself. “Hey, you know what,” she began, “why don’t we set up a goal? For every two or three kgs that we gain, we go out as a group. Have fun, eat. You know? Just enjoy life!” Several curious heads nodded. Two or three kgs, Diya thought, I’m gonna do this. “We’re gonna do this,” she announced, bringing her hand to the middle. The others enthusiastically joined as they all cheered in unison.

My people.

“Okay, okay, everyone! Come here!”

“One, two, three, cheers!”

“Cheers to gaining two kgs!”

“Hey, speak for yourself. I’ve gained three!”

“Same here!”

“Me too!”

The dainty little restaurant was filled with the sound of joy. To an ordinary person, this may have seemed like an odd celebration. But these people here weren’t ordinary, they were soldiers, they were survivors. They didn’t run away from their scars. They embraced them to show that they were there. They had suffered and they had risen. They had risen to become better people, loving people. Not all of them were on the same level, but this was no competition. This was friendship, camaraderie. This was a community. Months had passed by since the first time they had set a goal. It had always been to gain a few kgs. Diya knew it would never be completely easy. But it would be freeing. One day at a time, there would be an unexpected smile, an unimportant mirror. And right now? Some tasty buffet.

Piling up several platters, Diya and her newfound community friends giggled at their childish behaviour. But they were children at heart. They never truly had the time to enjoy their lives as teens. Better late than never, Diya would always say to herself. She still faced the harsh comments of other people, people who thought bringing others down elevated their position. In truth, it was the opposite. Today was no different either. As much as she tried, she could still hear the disgusted comments of other people. Harsh comments indeed. But not so harsh that they stung her as they once did. Perhaps, because she understood her true worth. Perhaps, because she realised no one judges her true worth but herself. Perhaps, because now, she loves herself.

Not to say she didn’t struggle. She avoided foods that reminded her of the cruel times with her so-called ‘friends’. ‘Friends’ that abandoned her the moment she wasn’t the epitome of fame. Friends, yeah right, she scoffed. But maybe she should have faced those fears sooner. For now, she sat alone at her table, staring at the plate of chicken wings. A funny concept maybe. But not for her. She still remembered what she felt. She still feels the same.

Nauseous. Diya felt nauseous. All around her, people chewing on their food. Messy, gross, disgusting. Sauce dripping everywhere, the stench unbearable. She could see people chortling and talking, faces stuffed with food, some obnoxiously flying around as they talked, oblivious. Revolting. She could hear, no, she could smell once again, people burping indecently, chuckling afterwards.  The stench of food filled the air.

“Diya, hey. Diya. Diya!” Shaken from her stupor, she gazed at her friends, concern in their eyes. “You good? You haven’t touched your food since the moment you sat down.” Shaking her head, Diya smiled a weak smile. They’re not buying it, she thought, nervous. Softly, one of her friends put their hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. Don’t force yourself. But make sure you eat something before you sleep okay?”

I have to try, at least once. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Diya picked up a piece. Her hands shook as she dropped the food. “One more time”, she breathed out. Picking up a wing, she suppressed the urge to vomit. Her hands shook, her stomach protested. She dropped the food again. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Ican’tdothisIcan’tdothisIcan’tdotihis. I can do this. I will do this. “One. More. Time.” She picked up her food once again. Her nostrils flared, burning with the smell of food. Ears ringing, vision blurry. I. Will. Do. This. The harsh lighting of the diner thudded against the back of her head. I. Can. Do. This. The sauce smeared her fingertips, squelching horribly. Ride or die, I guess.

Diya bit into her food.

Silence. Pin-drop silence. Diya remained unresponsive. Blank eyes stared at her friends. Blank, hazel eyes dropped down to her food. One bite. Two bites. Three bites. She took another bite. Chewing. Eating. “This… this is… this is delicious,” she exclaimed, unable to stop savouring the heavenly food. Gone was the disgust. How could she ever have neglected such a delectable meal! Flavourful, succulent, divine. Oftentimes fascinating. She noted the bright crimson colour, glossy in the restaurant lighting. She bit into her food. Crispy, crunchy on the outside and soft, juicy, piquant on the inside. Amazing!

Diya ate. She ate and she ate. After all, a hard-earned buffet is not one to miss so easily. She ate and she cheered. She enjoyed all that life had to offer her. And she did that with her true friends. I could have prevented my struggles by asking for help when I needed it, she thought.  Needing help and asking for help might be seen as a stigma in today’s world, but, as Charles Dickens said, ‘no one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.’

No one.

That night, Diya ate some more, when she went home.

Healing would never be an easy process. One would rise and one would fall. The only thing that mattered was when you fell, whether you would brush up your injuries and rise once again, or whether you would remain chained to the ground.

And Diya would not remain chained to the ground.

She rose and she fell. She loved herself and she hated herself. But each day became a little easier, a little lighter. Each meal became a little more guilt-free. Each weight gained and each weight lost became for her health, not for her ‘beauty’. She lost weight, she gained weight.

She became healthy.

She became loving, to herself and others. She aspired to be the very best she could be. And when you want something with all your heart, with all your soul, the universe will go to its very limits, to get that something to you. Diya wanted, she wanted with all her heart. She wanted with all her soul. And so the universe delivered. Her skills delivered.

Latest Achievement: Get into the Cambridge School of Visual & Performing Arts!

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 7 - Time to Let Go

“If we are ready to tear down the walls that confine us, break the cage that imprisons us, we will discover what our wings are for.”

— Michael Meegan

Do it for yourself. Do it for your health. Do it for the special moments in life. Do it for the moments 40, 50 years later, when you’re all old and wrinkly so that you can still smile, still stay with your loved ones. Do it so you can experience all that life has to offer. Do it to live. Do it to love. Do it to breathe. Do it to jump around and be the kid that you are at heart. Do it for you. Do it for life. Do it for your forever.

Every life is a different story, a different film. Perhaps a different genre. Every day is a different chapter, waiting to be read, waiting for its reader. In Diya’s story, everyone else would have been a passing character, a shadow, waiting on the sidelines. Small, seemingly unimportant and short-lived stories that her own would overshadow. She’d never paid heed to these stories, never turned a page in their lives and seen how the everyday person acts so differently from another everyday person. Never opened a new book, seen a new person. They’d never mattered to her. She didn’t think she mattered to them either.

So cruel, but that is life. A thousand different stories, a million different genres. A new movie, a new dream, waiting to be seen, to be heard. She’d given up on hers. Yet the simple words from a simple person, one whose story would never meet hers, had helped her. A small light, a tiny sliver of hope. But when you have been in a darkness so desolate for so long, a small flame can make such a big explosion. No, it didn’t cure Diya of her problems. No, it didn’t take away all her pain. No, it didn’t shield her from the piercing words that slashed away at her soul, ruining her. However, yes, it mattered. Yes, it took away some of her pain. Yes, every word she’d heard in that fateful live guided her to salvation. Yes, it helped. Yes, it showed Diya that the chains that shackled her were hers to confine and hers to free. And she didn’t want to be chained anymore, she wanted to walk the path she was always meant to go — the path to her truth, a path filled with nails and needles, colours and light, joy and sadness.

It was Diya’s fight, and she’d fight it strong, she’d fight it brave, and she’d fight it proud.

People seldom wish to hear that they are weak, that they need help, that they are alone in a darkness where no light can enter. Or maybe it can. Maybe, we are the ones extinguishing the flames of hope and passion that ignite our dark. Maybe, we snuff out those flames because they illuminate that which we do not want to see. Because they illuminate our weaknesses.

Maybe, Diya herself didn’t want to ask for help, because it would mean that she needed help in the first place. A surge of hope, a rush of need, and she’d found herself seated in front of her parents, fiddling with her thumbs. She knew the words she should say — “I’m fine.” “I’m great.” “I’m good.” But she also knew the words she wanted to say, the words for which she’d die if she didn’t tell another soul — “I’m not fine.” “I’m not great.” “I’m not good.” “Help me.” But she hesitated. She’d always been ‘great’, ‘amazing’. She’d always been ‘good’. Her parents loved her and she loved them. So why won’t the stupid words come out, she groaned, frustrated.

Tentatively, her head rose, eye-to-eye with her parents. And oh! The love, the care, the adoration! Those hazel eyes that resembled hers, or perhaps hers resembled theirs, carried so much affection. Those eyes that never judged only cared. Those eyes in front of which her words should come pouring out of her soul. Yet she hesitated. She hesitated. “Diya, sweetie, are you okay,” her mother finally asked. ‘I’m alright’, she should say. ‘I’ll be fine’ would be the logical answer. Be that as it may be, the pure and unfiltered love and concern in her mother’s voice brought out those burning tears and those heart-wrenching cries.

Diya had been strong for a time too long. It was time to let go.

She cried and she cried. She cried until she thought she could cry no more. And then she cried some more. All those days, all those scales, all those wounds. She cried for the help she hated to ask for. She cried for she had gone too far. She cried thinking she wasn’t worth it. She cried because of all those hours she’d spent to be good. She cried because all that pain she suffered didn’t turn out to be ‘good’ pain — pain that was the cost of success. She cried because all that pain she suffered turned out to be… just pain. She didn’t want that. “I didn’t want to disappoint you guys,” she wailed, as she let out the struggles she held inside herself. She’d forced herself to grow up too soon, too fast.

It was time to let go.

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 5 - Unwanted Children

“Bullies are cruel and possibly irretrievable, but their anger and bullying behaviour is often a displacement of their own lack of self-esteem and self-confidence. Mostly they are lost souls who do not know how to feel comfortable in the world. Their experience has been of failure, rejection, and lack of ability to function well.” — Keith Sullivan, Mark Cleary & Ginny Sullivan

Once upon a time, a halcyon reverie away, lived the child of Aphrodite. The zenith of grace, the essence of glamour, the hypnotic and resplendent belle. Lustrous raven locks that trickled down her back, swaying alongside the dance of the winds. Caramel skin that shimmered aurous in the golden hours, carmine lips which serenaded euphonious characters. Enthralling orbs that echoed that of felines, yet her cruel eyes were the gentlest shades of brown. No word could wholly represent the splendour of the child of Aphrodite for no word had been made that could hold such power. No word had been written for the sole purpose of expressing the grandeur of that child. One could say they felt Onism, for she was the world yet greater and none would truly experience the force that is Diya Elostra.

Diya thought herself to be the world yet greater — for everyone in the world believes that they are the someone special to someone special.

Dear Diya Elostra,

Thank you for taking the time to consider our renowned establishment. We are grateful for your interest in this particular career line and our company. However, we regret to inform you that we have chosen to move forward with a different candidate as a runaway model for the Fall 2022 Couture Collection.

Our team was impressed by your dedication, skills and scholarly accomplishments. However, not all requirements for this Collection were met, leading to this unfortunate email. We think you could be a great fit for other future openings and will reach out again should the opportunity arise.

We wish you all the best in your job search and future professional endeavours.

Regards, Naomi Palvin

Diya gazed dejectedly at the rejection letter. It must have been the… Which one was it, she thought dismally, the 12th rejection letter? The 16th? The 20th? She stopped keeping count after what she presumed must have been the fifth letter she received. Ever since she could dream a dream, that dream had been that of a model. And not just any model. A top model. If I was capable enough, skinnier enough, she thought bitterly, crumpling the letter in her hands, I would’ve been a top model, living a top model’s life. Fame, money, glitter and glam. Cameras would flash as I stepped out of my car, a top model’s car, as the crowd went crazy over me. She was oh so desperate in her longing, that she could almost feel the bright glow of the cameras, the light breeze clinging onto her locks, making her shiver, and the roar of the crowd in front of her, chanting Diya! Diya! Diya! Diya would smile a dazzling smile, opening her eyes to find… nothing. For she was no top model, she was no model even. There would be no cameras, no crowd. There would only be her, Diya. A struggling being who was handed the worst of fate after waking up from a 2-year-long nightmare — her food coma.

Despite the honeyed lies that she received through those letters, she knew the true reason behind these rejections. She was fat. Not just slightly overweight but extremely obese. Fate wouldn’t let me die but it would let me suffer for all the years to come, she thought, a newfound venom in her thoughts. But she would rather prefer bitter truths over honeyed lies, for everywhere she goes she hears the crude comments of the people around her. It ranges from the innocent child to the diabolical adult but the comments are the same. Many times, it was these innocent children who walked up to her and asked her, “Miss why are you so fat?” And their parents would hear, oh they would hear very well, yet they never acted upon these insults. They laughed and they giggled, and when Diya took action herself, they scorned her for being hateful to their “dear children”, “the apple of my eyes”. Somedays, Diya felt like poking a searing hot rod through those very eyes, see how that worked.

Diya knew to never lose hope, even when fate mocked her so. Yet the truth is, a person can live up to 21 days without food, up to 3 days without water, and maybe up to 4 minutes without air. But without hope, a person cannot live even up to 4 seconds. So how does the world expect Diya to live without hope, how does anyone expect anyone to live without hope? Diya promised herself to achieve whatever she wanted or to die trying, it was a promise she upheld up until the very end. But as the awfully framed job advertisement popped up on her phone, she had to break the promise she made to herself when she was 5. She had to lose her inner child and she did so, strangling that little kid in her that had hope, that had dreams, choking her until she felt those dreams die down, that hope wither.

For in a world where happiness is a rarity, there is no place for dreams.

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD

Chapter 4 - Distateful Delicacies

“One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalised and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.”

― Michael J. Fox

Grades, study, smart, school, academic validation. Diya could feel herself decaying from the inside out. Her picture-perfect life was completely wrecked. The sheer amount of stress and pressure she felt on a daily basis was insufferable. She thought that life could not get any worse. Fate, however, must have been laughing when she dared to hope for more. After all, Diya thought bitterly, fate is a cruel mistress.

“Diya Elostra! Diya! Where is she- oh! Diya, Come here honey,” a bright voice called. Her head perked up as her thoughts stopped in their miserable tracks. Oh right, she thought, I’m in school. She marched to the teacher’s desk, head tilted in confusion. It was her favourite teacher, her favourite class. The only one where she truly made the effort to do well. Not like I’d fail even if I didn’t try, she thought, chuckling. Ever since she could think, Diya had always been the best, the smartest, the brightest, the top student. She didn’t have a choice. It would be the only validation that would truly satisfy her. Aside from my looks, I suppose, Diya wondered.

She reached her teacher and was taken back to find her effervescent teacher downcast. That’s weird, Diya thought. “Diya, honey, how are you feeling,” she asked. Before Diya could even formulate an answer, she spoke again, “You were doing so, so well until now. The best student, the smartest, the brightest! How did you amongst the 30 diverse students in this grade manage to get a U?” Diya was appalled. Maybe I didn’t hear her properly, she thought. “Could you please repeat that”, she asked. Despondent, her teacher said, “You got a U. Diya, I know it must be quite distressing and difficult to grasp this reality but…”

Diya’s ears started ringing, a deafening noise. Behind her, she heard the harsh laughs and snickers of other students. She looked back to see that even the least brightest of them all was laughing. She got higher than I did, the truth rattled her mind. She loathed this. Panicked, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Was the classroom always so small? Was I always this laughable? Was I always this unintelligent? Was I always this fat? Was I always…

Diya sprinted out of her classroom, out of her school, and ran home. Vision blurred as tears continuously streamed down her face, she couldn’t stop them even if she wanted to. “My friends,” she choked out, scrambling for her phone, “I forgot to tell them to send me any classwork done later on. I forgot to tell them I left.” Typing out a short message, Diya’s fingers hovered above the send button. What would they think of me if they learned about what happened, a small voice spoke, will they still like me? “No,” Diya voiced out, “they’re my friends. Of course they’ll support me, no matter what!” Clicking on send, Diya saw that she couldn’t send it no matter how many times she tried.

They unfriended me, she thought, with horror. She rushed to go on their social media page, only to see the spiteful comments and rumours they spread about her, not only to the members of her school but also to all her followers online. So vile and disgusting they were, that Diya could not suppress the shudder that racked through her frame. She watched, helpless, as her popularity decreased in the span of a few hours. Her followers converted into her haters, sending hate comments and death threats. All this in the span of a few hours. 

All this because I wasn’t the smartest, Diya thought, furiously.

Dazed, she dragged her living corpse onto the scale in the corner of her bathroom. A brand new scale. Better, newer, nicer. Unlike me, she thought. Placing herself on top of the cursed balance, she waited. And she waited. “Please… let it be 32,” she begged, desperate. But the numbers on the scale never stopped increasing. 32kg, 39kg, 45kg, 49kg. Finally, the cursed numbers ended, displaying her weight as 53kg. “No”, she pleaded, “please.” She stepped off and weighed herself again. And again. And again. But the numbers never lied. She was truly 53kg. Why? WHY? WHY?! She pulled at her hair and stomped her feet, crying in frustration.

She contemplated throwing the scale again. But it isn’t that scale’s fault, she thought, I’m the problem. I’m the plague. “If I can’t lose weight, then I’ll die the fattest person alive,” she thought, determined. Grabbing all the food in her house, she forced them down her throat. Eating, eating, eating… Bile rose in her throat, but she continued shoving food down herself. She felt dizzy, she felt nauseous, she felt sick. Lightheaded, she would still never stop. Her vision became dizzy, her ears started ringing once again. Her head felt weird, as though she had cotton stuffed in it. It was horrible.

Her world turned black, as she slumped in a heap onto the cold, hard floor.