'Fat' is an Asian feminist issue

White feminists' take on fat being a feminist issue has nothing on the Asian woman's world. Being fat shamed happens in our own homes, in our relative's homes when we visit, in the events that we go to such as the weddings, birthday parties and, if you are Tamil, the 'coming of age' events where a girl's first period is, so-called, 'celebrated'. 

The take downs from the aunties, cousins, uncles, friends and the list goes on is so 'in your face'. If you are conscious of your weight and figure, the anxiety starts just at the thought of you being on the receiving end. One almost ends up playing a guessing game of who is going to be the first person to say it - "You HAVE put on weight haven't you?" 

A female cousin of mine long ago gave up seeing the family, and that does include all 100 of us, because she couldn't get her weight under control. Far easier, she decided, to stay at home. 

At junctions like this, when fat shaming becomes a lifestyle determining issue, that feminism kicks in. Men are told that their 'fat' is down to good living. Our 'fat' is, instead, twinned with getting or keeping a man. Let's face it, that's the only reason why we are fat shamed. Our sexuality is never our own. It's bonded to male sexuality. 

Push past the 'aunty' humour that Asians create to deflect the patriarchy and the tragedy is that numerous Asian women are being emotionally harmed because of body image issues. Fat-ism blights lives. 

Memoirs of a broken marriage by an Asian female doctor and the dreaded mother-in-law

I grew up in a traditional Sri Lankan family where a lot of emphasis was placed on education. Both my parents were doctors and my older sister soon followed suit. Although there was no obligation for me to become a doctor, I felt as if those who even thought of doing something other than medicine, engineering, law and accountancy were scorned upon by society.

I wanted to become a veterinarian but somehow found myself headed down the path of medicine. Getting many A’s in school was as important. So was learning how to play the piano. I had no time for boys or boyfriends. In fact, I was quite content at the thought of an arranged marriage as I was certain my parent would find me the ‘right’ man.

Now looking back, I wish I had been more adventurous and less afraid in my younger days. Although I excelled academically, I had no life skills.

When my husband of 6 years left me, my whole world came tumbling down. It was as if the rug had been pulled from underneath me. He was my best friend; my first true love and the person I imagined myself growing old with.

Why he left me for someone else I shall never know. She was older, had two kids and was financially insecure. I, on the other hand, a doctor with a bright future ahead of me.

After I couldn’t cry anymore, I found myself walking in this thick fog that seemed to last forever. I often wondered when I would fall off a cliff and come to an eternal rest. I was confused, upset and eventually blamed myself for the failure of our marriage.

When I wasn’t walking in this fog, I was in the deepest, darkest and loneliest pit. Climbing out of this pit was such an effort that sometimes it was easier to lie in there forever.

Surprisingly, the only thing that kept me going was work. I loved my job and I would put on a brave face, force a smile and head off to work. I work with elderly folk who amuse and amaze me on a daily basis. Some are so stoic and resilient that nothing seemed to phase them. Others are accepting of life and they make the best of it despite adversities. 

My patients often told me how lovely and beautiful I was and how lucky my husband must be. Others asked if I had any children. I would jokingly say that they worked me too hard for me to think about starting a family. 

What consistently brought a tear to my eye is the fond stories patients tell me about their partners. How they met, the challenges they faced bringing up their kids and how they grew old together but never falling out of love with one another. 

Life as a doctor was not easy. I spent ten long years training to become a consultant. That involved working long days, weekends, the night shift and moving from one hospital to another. When I wasn’t catching up on sleep, I was busy studying for exams, reading medical journals, writing up reports and the list goes on. Being a fellow doctor, I thought he would have understood. All I know is that I did my best. 

I’ll always remember the first day we met. It was a cold November afternoon in the lovely city of Glasgow. I was nervous but excited as I waited for him. We had been speaking on the phone for weeks beforehand, so I didn’t feel as if I was meeting a stranger. And then I saw him come up the escalator, a quiff followed by the rest of him. It was as if we were old friends as conversation flowed easily. 

Coffee turned into a movie and then dinner. Fantastic Mr Fox was our first of many movies to come. He came back for more the next day before I flew back to Ireland. I was living in Ireland then. We met up every weekend from then onwards. A few months later he told me he loved me and wanted to marry me. I felt the same. Our families were ecstatic as we were both from the same cultural background, therefore it was a marriage made in heaven. We got married just over a year later. 

I’ll always remember the first time we lay eyes on our new house. We had seen two other houses but this one was special. It was bright, happy and inviting. I knew it was the one for us. He felt the same. We moved in a few months later and I couldn’t have been happier. It was our first place together. I found a thinking spot by the radiator and he found his favourite spot sit on the stairs. I can still see him there, looking down at his phone. When he walked out of our home he took with him the sunshine. 

I was coming home to a dark, cold and lonely house. The void and emptiness paralysed me. Everything reminded me of him.  The pain was so bad it incapacitated me to the point that all I can do was go to bed and cry inconsolably. I prayed asking that he guide me down the right path.

I can’t say I was ever unhappy in the marriage. Relationships do hit a plateau after some time but that is not a cue to replace your partner. 

I still do think about him- I wonder what he’s doing, who he’s with and most importantly if he is happy. Secretly I wish that he is unhappy and filled with regret. I imagine him wanting so desperately to get back together with me. The reality is that he had moved on and looking back, perhaps he left a long time ago mentally even if he was with me physically. 

There was cruelty in the way he broke the news about his affair. He chose to tell me two weeks after our wedding anniversary and two days before the new year. I guess they had made plans to welcome in the new year together. I was physically sick for two days. He told me I was the ‘perfect wife ‘and he that he wanted a second chance.  Although he loved her, he loved me more. Naively I gave him a second chance. 

The next few months were a blur. I discovered more lies, the gifts, the jewellery, the lingerie, the 5-star hotel getaways, the day trips to the cinema and the secret trips to York. He stayed in most of the hotels around the area while I worked the night shifts and the weekends. 

Although we were ‘trying again’ in reality we lived apart. Surprisingly he said he needed time and space. He wanted to move back into our home, but he ‘just wasn’t ready’. Staying at a friend’s place and hanging out with the guys helped clear his mind. He also wanted to throw himself into his work and therefore could only visit me once a week for an hour. 

We never spent any weekends together as he wanted to catch up with a few friends before we got back together properly. But he did promise on many occasions to take me to the cinema or to dinner to give us a chance to discover ourselves. He stood me up 9 out of 10 times. When he did come to visit, I would cook him a nice meal and we would talk about the weather. He would always text in advance making it clear that we should steer away from the ‘heavy stuff’. He called the shots.

He said that as he had told me about her once so there was no need to go through it again. We did go to counselling, but he gave such model insincere answers that it was a pointless exercise and quite frankly a waste of time and my money. Yes, he would turn up to sessions without cash! Having spent more than £ 3000 on his mistress, parting with £50 to save his marriage was hard for him, a rich Cardiologist. 

Telling my parents was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and I delayed it for as long as I could. My mum knew something awful had happened when she heard my voice. She cried with me and continued to cry for the next year and a half. She prayed and often asked God why. When she spoke to me, she told me to stay strong and that something good was on the horizon. ‘You’re a good person and God will never let you down’.  I was at my lowest and she was my pillar.  My dad was a quiet man. Although he didn’t say much, inside he wept. I was precious to him and he was very proud of me. I was his little girl after all, and I was hurting.

My mother-in-law blamed me. In her eyes, a good Indian wife is one who is intelligent, highly qualified, beautiful, fair and slim. Oh yes, this person should also be highly skilled in the kitchen, able to maintain the house to a high standard and hold a full- time job. Ironically, she struggled to get through secondary school herself but because her son was a Cardiologist who graduated from the UK, she was better than everyone else.

She put the’ failure’ of the marriage down to the fact that I was a ‘bad ’daughter in law. I wasn’t accommodating enough. I was rude to her, didn’t engage when she spoke poorly of friends and relatives, money minded, and the list went on. I was also fat and had spots on my face. When I cooked him a nice meal, she would accuse me of making him fat. When I didn’t cook for him, I was a disappointment. Overall, I was a disappointment and I could never do anything right. I wasn’t allowed to talk about the affair. Her son was not at fault as he can do no wrong. Therefore, by default, it was my fault. 

She was a vile narcissistic woman who always successfully reduced me to tears. Although I never cried in front of her, I was often upset and subdued when she was around.

What bothered me the most was that he never stood up for me. 

With time, he started convincing me that I was the one with the problem and that I needed to take a good look at myself.  He was slowly starting to become like her. I guess it’s true -the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. 

I knew I had to leave our marital home and find a place of my own. The house after all was in his name. His mum was visiting, and he said that he needed a place to put the ‘beast’ up. 

Nine months after we separated, I moved into my new home. I had served him the divorce papers by now. I also started talking to people about what I was going through. Talking helped as it gave me the strength to move on and I realised that I wasn’t alone. I have been blessed with good friends and the most amazing sisters-in-law. They are more like sisters to me. They stood by me, cried with me, picked me up and helped me fly again. These two apples fell a mile away from the tree! 

I met M at this point. He was kind, sweet, patient and generous. I was sceptical and distant. Learning to trust and love again wasn’t easy. I needed time and he was willing to wait. The dark clouds were starting to lift and the sun was peeping through. 

And then I met my dogs, Monty and Bailey. My husband had not allowed me to have dogs because he said they would ruin the carpets and furnishings. Instead, vibrant colours started to fill my world when my dogs arrived. I met them at the animal rescue centre I volunteer at. They were Romanian rescue dogs who travelled all the way to England in search of love. Monty, we think, is 10 and Bailey 7. I fell in love with them right away. In some ways they reminded me of myself. Unwanted but not defeated completely. I brought them home a week later. 

The love that dogs give you is unconditional. They don’t care what you look like. It didn’t matter if you were fat with spots on your face, as long as you loved them, they loved you back. It was that easy. I often wondered how Monty and Bailey found themselves on the streets. I just hope it wasn’t because their owners replaced them with a new dog. 

Monty and Bailey have introduced me to this secret world of dog lovers. They love saying hello to other dogs, and because of them I’m now friends with other dog parents. They’ve also brought M and me closer. He never had a dog growing up although he wanted one badly. He dotes over them and is an amazing daddy to them. 

Two years later, I’m glad I didn’t give up then. God knows how close I came so many times but the little voice in my head kept saying ‘hold on, it will get better ‘. I didn’t think I’d find my way out of the thick fog but I did and what I discovered beyond the fog was absolutely beautiful. I’m stronger, more resilient and I’ve learnt to believe in myself. More importantly, I’ve learnt to respect myself. He made me feel small and his mum made me feel worthless. Now they are no longer part of my life.

In some ways, life is like being on a train. 

Along the way, the train stops at various stations where people get in and some get out.  The people who matter the most to us will remain on this train and go through life’s journey with us. Even if they are no longer around in person, they travel with us in spirit. We come across so many people and experiences along the way. Some don’t even board the train. 

And then there are those who come into our lives for a specific reason. They teach us the harshest and hardest lessons of lives. Once the lesson is learnt, we emerge out of our cocoon ready to face the world but this time it will take a lot more to push us down. It also means letting go of the past so that there is more room on our train for the future. We must allow people who hold us back and make us feel small to leave this train forever. 

Letting go of my husband has been incredibly difficult for me as he was my first love. I still think about the happy times but I must say they’re slowing starting to fade. I look at my two dogs and I feel intense love towards them. Their melting brown eyes, soft fur and sweet nature make me the luckiest dog mummy in the world. 

I look over at M who is busy trying to build me this fancy electronic device that will fortify the house. What a sweet thing to do. I know that we will go out for a walk later with Monty and Bailey. I look out into the garden and see birds feeding off the bird feeder. The garden looks pretty with lots of different flowers. They are big, bright and happy. Bailey is soaking up the sun while Monty is busy chasing the crows away. I see some squirrels make their way toward the bird feeder. I will have to top it up soon. 

My train is moving down some beautiful pastures. I take it all in. I don’t know what lies ahead but for now, I am happy and I want to live life.

By ‘The Secret Female Asian Doctor’

Is it alright to be called a 'Colored Woman'?

The British Minister for Works and Pensions, Amber Rudd, used the term 'coloured woman' this week. She was, paradoxically, drawing attention to the way a fellow MP, Diane Abbott, has suffered racism for being a Black woman when she used the term 'coloured woman'.

But it came across like a double negative own goal instead. Quite understandably, Amber Rudd has come in for criticism. It is indeed an outdated and offensive phrase notably because it is historically linked to slavery and apartheid. Episodes in history that were based on outright racism.

Yet, the word 'coloured' trips off the tongues of White people rather too easily in this day and age. Even after the efforts of people of colour to speak up about racism it still feels like a head and brick wall situation. With Amber Rudd it was a case of White woman from the sisterhood tries to speak up on behalf of a woman of colour but ends up botching it all due to her ignorance of the sensitivities of race.

Feminism cannot be a collective if it doesn't recognise all our intersectionalities. Otherwise it becomes a battle within rather than a battle for feminism.