The Inner Slut

My blog list has changed. I've gotten rid of those that I no longer visit and kept the ones that I read everyday. Alexa's "A New York Escorts Confessions" is a very refreshing read every time. It's very honest and young, very open. There is innocence in her wonder at the world, yet deep insight often jumps at you at times.

Which led me to the realization that I haven't really been courageous enough to expand my scribblings (or rattling on the keyboard) to the deeper insights of The Inner Slut. One post in "Confession" which caught my eye was the one about BBW -- or Big Beautiful Women. I'm not exactly a BBW at 5'7" and 150 pounds. But for an Asian, that is big. I've always been a "big" girl or "tall for my age" in school. It didn't help either that I started wearing glasses at second grade.

The reason for the existence of The Inner Slut is the very low self-esteem that I had growing up. Family teased, friends teased, aunts and uncles teased, boys teased. It was all about my height and my weight. I grew up learning to lean on my supposed bright intellect. I've come to the realization and accepted the fact that, although I'm bright, I'm no rocket scientist.

Big people are generally funny and witty, simply because they learn not to take themselves seriously. Otherwise, it would be an extremely lonely world, indeed. Same with kids who grow up in problem-riddled families, or broken homes. Humor is used to take reality onto another plane, another level. Humor is another perspective from which to view reality.

The Inner Slut, therefore, is a response to the rejection of the society in which I find myself. The Inner Slut is my in-your-face response to this judgmental, narrow-minded society that rejects people who do not fit in its "mold."

The Inner Slut has bolstered my self-esteem radically. I have a confidence in myself that I never had a year ago, simply because I dared to recognize The Inner Slut. There still are times when I'm plagued by self-doubts, especially when I'm to meet a guy for the first time. There's always the body-type issues: Would he like what he sees? Would my body shape turn him off?

Whenever I start thinking this way, The Inner Slut turns around and slaps me in the face, yells at me: Would you like him? Would you be turned off with his body? Would he measure up to your standards?

Then I start to laugh at myself and the world.