My big fat….

I always had an issue with the way I looked and felt in my skin. It goes back as far as kindergarten and it will probably go on for a little while longer. Nevertheless, I hope it will change soon but I know that it will take a lot of courage and love to better myself.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be black like the other kids in my class – black to me was anyone who was darker than me and not necessarily of African descent.  I was a pale skinned newborn with big blue eyes and a massive amount of blonde hair glued on my head.  My parents thought that perhaps they had switched babies in the delivery room because I looked nothing like them. My mother is olive skinned with dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. My father is a mulatto. Both were products of a mix; my maternal grandmother is half Cuban and half Haitian and she married a German-American man. My paternal grandmother is Haitian and she married an Italian/Dutch man.

I wanted to be dark like my adopted sister and olive skinned like my little brother who by the way took all the Cuban genes for himself. He tans, I burn.

Then later on in life, around junior high school I developed a weight issue. I was going through puberty and gained some weight to accommodate my transition to womanhood. At the time, I felt as though I had gain so much weight and looked terrifyingly obese. I also had my mother who would constantly monitor what I ate – she feared that I would resemble my father’s family – All the women were on the heavy side, whilst my mother’s family were tall and skinny.

I developed an eating disorder in High School. I would go days without eating in hopes I’d please my mother. I was nearly 100lbs my junior year of High school and still…to her, I looked heavy. She constantly compared herself to me. I often heard: “my wedding dress would never fit you”. Tis true. It will never fit me. She had a 24inch waist and “A” cup breasts. I played tennis in HS and with that came muscle mass. I was ripped and weigh 120lbs. There was nothing I could do to change that. I literally cried myself to sleep thinking that I will be the size of my aunts.

In College, my eating disorder turned into 3 hour work out sessions every night. It wasn’t effective. After my break up with Hope my junior year, I lost control and plunged back. I didn’t eat. I replaced my meals with drugs and alcohol. I looked unhealthy but everyone applauded my weight lost success. It felt good to be skinny.

After college, I was between 110-130lbs. I was bulking up at the gym because I figured the ladies would love washboard abs. They did.

I met Texas (my ex roommate) when I was 25 years old. I was fit but definitely not at my best. We moved in together, we ate great food all the time and I fell in love. With love came weight gain. It is only natural – you are happy, you eat, you party and you have fun. I must have gained about 25-30lbs during those 3 years. It didn’t bother me – I was happy until I noticed that she didn’t look at me the same way anymore. I felt rejected but she only mentioned my weight gain during our horrific fights. But I knew…

And my eating disorder came back – I felt unwanted and the only way to fix it was to purge whatever I ate. Behind closed doors, I hugged that toilet for dear life and imagined me being skinny. It worked. I took pills to boost my metabolism, I worked out and I went hungry. By the time it did work, we had already broken up. 

Now, 2 years after I moved out of the place we shared, I am back to my ideal weight – 130lbs. For my frame, 130 looks good. But honestly, I am not completely satisfied with the results. This time around, I didn’t starve myself, instead I was on a “clean-eating lifestyle” which is eating nutrient-rich, low-fat meals – no processed food: No sweets, no sodas, no alcohol, no factory made breads ect…I made a lot of raw juices, baked a lot instead of sautéing food with a ton of butter and I cut red meat and rice from my weekly meals – a staple of comfort food for my heartbreaks.

For the first time in years, I looked at myself in the mirror last weekend and I noticed that my abs are showing tremendously, my thunder thighs are slimmer and my biceps are lean and strong. But still…I am not satisfied. I am afraid that I have been putting myself down whilst everyone congratulated me on my victory. Fat scares me. I am not attracted to overweight people because when I look at them, I see me. My small circle of friends are not obese – because sometimes they lure you with crappy foods and you give in and you become them. Then again, at some point in my life I must have been someone’s fat friend. That is my biggest fear and I hate that I think that way because it is wrong.

My mother has come around and realized that I had a serious problem. Just the other day, a good friend of hers told her that my body resembled someone who had a few kids.

My mom replied: she is a size 2.

Something happened

The lack of blog entries is due to a new job I acquired two weeks ago. You are now looking at an account director from an ad agency here on the east coast. Though I am rather excited for my new venture, I have been swamped with work and no time to decompress at my home computer. This is all new to me; new job, big title, big office, cool guys (yes, I am 1 of 2 females there), really amazing and laid-back environment and without a doubt, I have the coolest CEO who parks his white shiny Audi next to my not so dangerous looking mx-5. Yes, I have a parking spot with my name on it.

It is also a start-up company; 5 years young yet very successful and as matured as Google. I come from a monster – Newsweek Magazine; an iconic brand with hidden talents and a frightful craving for the truth. Alas, it fell through the cracks of media hell where one’s integrity no longer was its virtues and morals. I loved the Newsweek brand before Tina Brown. It fell on her lap when our 90+ year old owner died just a few months after he bought the company from the Graham family. Her background includes the New Yorker and Vanity Fair where according to rumors she was not a reasonable woman. She came to Newsweek with the idea that she could revolutionize the brand. It was not a bad idea – she had a great vision, that lady. Personally, I thought it wasn’t a good fit. Newsweek reported the news. Tina reported Gossip. It was not a match and besides, the ones who read Newsweek since the 30’s are just about dead, no?

So Newsweek failed but if I may speak honestly, she slaughtered the brand. She turned a journalistic publication into a tittle-tattle rag no one would take with them to the bathroom. I only read the articles when I got a call from angry old folks who complained about the covers. I would also get shredded copies of Newsweek in the mail with post-it notes: “Shame on you”.

As if I had anything to do with it.

I am only a 2 week old director at a place where ideas are welcomed and valued with ultimate respect. And because it is so small (less than 20 people), we all eat lunch together (CEO included!) – this I find a bit odd but I shall get used to it. I was accustomed to back-stabbing colleagues and unbearably annoying executives but only after the old timers were pushed out of the doors and the young college grads with big egos came in with big titles whilst the last of the Mohicans were titled trapped.

Yes I am happy at my new place but I am sure after a few more weeks my rainbows and unicorns fairy tale ad agency dream will fade to a darker shade of gray reality where waking up at 5am becomes a  dreadful chore.

Because it is only natural to find flaws in a company once you have settled in.

The Neighbor

 

After my last long-term relationship, I moved into a small building where there were only a total of 3 apartments. They are all occupied by women. There is a sweet Pre-med student on the first floor, the 2^nd floor is mine and the third is this beautiful Russian model.

I never had any sort of friendship with either neighbors – just a simple “hello, how are you” small talk in the hallway. A year after I moved in, I became friends with the student downstairs, only because she was young and a bit naïve. She is from NYC and she had just moved into the apartment below. I took her under my wing and showed her a few things in the neighborhood and sometimes we occasionally shared a joint and a movie. She is an aspiring doctor who smokes pot. Go figure!

The Russian model kept to herself – occasionally she and I will chat and during those small talks, she would flirt and bat her long lashes and shoot me a devilish smile which drove me nuts. Last week, we both came back from a night of drinking. We saw each other in the hallway and we both knew what we wanted. Sex!

I followed her upstairs without saying any words.

She pulled me by the collar of my leather jacket and drew me closer to her. The faint smell of whiskey on her breath turned me on. Here I was, standing in her hallway, drunk as a skunk, her finger tips traveling along my spine and down to my lower back. She kissed me. Her tall legs quivering, I held her face and kissed her. Her moans traveled down the hallway – it was barely sunrise and the student downstairs must have been sleeping, I thought. I bit her neck, slammed her against her door, my hands cupping her delicate breast – they were soft pools of flesh that made my mouth water.  She was aroused. It was rough yet gentle. Her soft skin against my warm body sent chills down my spine.  Weak kneed, I slumped onto the dirty carpet floors of the hallway. We fucked outside her door until I heard the neighborhood birds chirping and alerting us of the glorious sun rise.  Still disoriented, I bid her farewell and headed to my apartment. Yesterday, she invited me back to the 3^rd floor.

There was no mention of the fuck session we had a few days prior, instead, it was the continuation of where we left off.

I still don’t know her name. Perhaps I should check her mailbox on my way out today.  I was being neighborly, my friends reassured me. I feel dirty and a bit embarrassed but you can’t change someone’s nature. That’s me. I have a deep fear of relationships and chose my ladies wisely – usually, they are straight. This means that there are no expectations, no rules and no drama. The best kind of relationship, I believe.

I am reaching a certain age where I need to change my ways or else I will be that old lady down the street who is aging not so gracefully sans partner. That scares me as well.

Should I bit adieu to this gorgeous Russian Model?

The Bluest Sea

 

There should be a glistening sunlight

A humming bird out of his cage

A beautiful young sky and cloudless at the same time

And you.

 

There should be the bluest tropical sea caressing our bodies

Silver blue, ever changing green, where life still dances

Unspoiled nature where harmony is the law

And you.

 

There should be a yellowish warm sandy carpet under our feet

A crisp breath of air and the shade of a coconut tree

A rediscovered hidden paradise where love is a choice

And you.

 

There should be nothing, yet everything

And you

Like an old ship

 

I should keep quiet and love her in silence

When I feel it deep inside like a warm summer sun

It burns me with the flame of absence

Without warning, I cry.

 

I suffer knowing that I love her

Without daring to explain that it distracts me in vain

And still nothing, I try to smile

By ignoring that I am hurting

 

However, this pain in me that devours my soul

I don’t know how to ease it; it breaks me

How do I hide it? It grinds, it twists; it is in knots.

Nothing around me has color nor sound.

 

O my soul, my life, but where did I go wrong?

Why her? Why? And why is my heart crazy?

And how do I to stifle most of my trouble?

And who will hold me if I fold under the blow?

 

Where is my headlight to illuminate my night?

How do I fill my desperation and my hollow heart?

Without anything in my life I feel I digress.

This breaks my silence and I want to scream!

 

But no, I must hold my tongue and hold my tears captive

No one should know.

But no, let my cry. Let me drift to the open sea,

Without faith I will crumble alone.

 

I’m like a ship; old ships crumble

My heart is damaged by the fury of the waves.

I would relieve my soul from worries

But I will let it perish

And let it fade between two waters.

Standing like a fool

The end of last summer meant a lot to me. I was starting to mourn the thought of having to tuck away my bikini far away in my closet when I met a new friend who had just moved to NY from god knows where, Florida maybe? Let’s call her The Expat.

Randomly, a few months ago I stumbled upon her instagram. I knew then that she was someone I would love to know. I was instantly drawn to her, so charming me decided to send her a message on facebook. My note was simple and to the point. When I first met her, she was dealing with some personal things with a guy who had temporarily moved into her home for two weeks. I met them both for the very first time at her apt for dinner. I knew they were sleeping together just by looking at the chemistry that exploded whenever they looked at each other. I was fine but definitely a bit upset that she was taken by some random French guy. Since she had company for two weeks, she was busy being a good hostess and a tour guide.

A week after we all met, he was gone and Expat and I hung out. I felt something between us - It was there deep down in the dustiest corners of her heart. It was going to be a lot of work to have her open up to me but I was willing to do it – I thought perhaps she would have given me a chance. One morning she sat across from me and told me that I came at the wrong time. She explained that she was at a different place and that she likes where she is and doesn’t want anyone right now. Come to find out, the French guy broke her heart by saying that he was going back to his ex-girlfriend.

Drama!

So I was there in the middle of all of this trying to grab her attention when in reality she was still hurt by him and I’m sure I was used as a little distraction for a while. This could be questionable but I am going with my gut. I knew it was coming. I was waiting for her to gain the courage to deliver the truth – even if it meant that it would potentially hurt me. A few minutes later I walked home alone. I told myself that she will change her mind.

She didn’t.

Months later after we have been hanging out like a married couple sans sex, I found myself having to tell her that I need to step away for a bit because the way I felt for her was not mutual and that it wasn’t fair to either of us.

I do miss my friend. But most importantly, I miss what our friendship represented.

I am back

I am back but I don’t know for how long. I woke up this morning with the urge to write and although I have another blog which I have not paid any attention to, this blog is me. my baby. My journal with my most prized entries and this blog is where everything started.

I lost my job in December.

Writing these little words has sparked some sadness with tears rolling down my face. I have been upset since the day I found out that the company was going through a massive lay-off. The years spent cultivating my career, I hope, will help me find something bigger and more important.

Alas, I have been applying since December. Nothing. No prospects. I do get calls back though – “the position is too junior for you. The pay is 20k lower than what you were making. You cannot be THAT desperate”

In a way I am. I have been working my entire adult life and sitting at home and occasionally meeting up with old colleagues is depressing. And when you are running out of cash, the thought of going out and spending 30 bucks on drinks is not attractive. So I don’t go out.

My friends have disappeared. It is funny how I always saw them when I was working. Is there some sort of disease I am carrying? The broke disease? I know I put on a brave face when I step out of my dungeon, I guess they can see it seeping out of my pores. I have also realized who my real friends are – the ones that I have been there for during their heartbreaks have gone missing. It must be the amphetamine of their new loves clouding their thoughts.

God damn, I am too good of a friend.

It is no time to be left alone.

adios kiddos!

I am saying goodbye.

 

The time we’ve spent together have been stored in my happy memories box. It is time. I need to move on.

I will be focusing more on my photography – check it out if you’d like –> cblanchardphoto.com

I will be focusing more on my personal self – I need to grow a bit more, I need to challenge myself, I need to feel good….

 

I will come back, I’m sure. 

 

I wish you all complete Happiness. Love. Peace and Respect.

 

 

The.writer.says

A month long

I was in Haiti and I turned a year older.

I went home to celebrate my grandmother’s jubilee. Funny enough, it was a few weeks before Queen Elizabeth’s. No, my grandmother isn’t a queen in your world. Dinners and galas filled the first weekend I was home. Sit like a lady, smile, nod; always agree. I memorized them before my trip but once I landed, I transformed into a person I once knew. I don’t like to be chauffeured, I don’t like that the maids stand in crisp white uniforms behind a door waiting to serve you. Most of my friends all grew up the same way; being tended to our every need by someone our family hired. It is our norm. My grandmother likes that. She always told me this lifestyle is the way she was raised. She doesn’t even know how to iron or scrub a bathtub. This lady knows nothing about domestic duties but she dined with your queen once, traveled the world, lived in more countries than most of us would ever imagined. She’s friends with people you may not know but are listed as prominent figures in our world. I celebrated her life and work with a few of her close friends – a celebration that lasted a whole weekend. She is my queen.

During my visit, I scrubbed in the operating room with my uncle. He’s a surgeon and I was his assistant. We’ve been doing this since I was 8. “you should have been a surgeon”, he says. “you still have time”, he added. He is right. I should have been an orthopedic surgeon. So his way of convincing me to still go to med school is for me to scrub in with him and for me to realize how content I am being surrounded by science. I was never a big fan of science but I’ve always loved medicine.  Then what’s the problem? I don’t want to shadow my parents. My parents, I know, will always be amongst the very best doctors. I was always reminded of that when I would visit the hospital and I would hear nurses and doctors tell me that my mom was the best; she had a gift. I didn’t want that and still don’t. What if I am better? Ha!

I traveled a lot while I was home. I went to cities that I’ve never been to. I spoke to new people, I met new friends and I partied a lot.  I jammed with old friends and I smoked pot with Haitian artists. I saw a part of Haiti I had longed for. I also saw a part of me that surprised me. I met a new me.

My birthday was a month-long. It started in Haiti in May and is ending in the concrete jungle this weekend. I am happy. I celebrated in my own way; A day on top of a mountain overlooking Port-au-Prince bay, another meditating on a beach in Jacmel with friends and one guitar. I partied in clubs with complete strangers in Petion-Ville and I am finishing it all at a bar in Chelsea, New York.

But today, I will meditate and write.

You ain’t alone

I have a sister whom I adore. Her name is Ericka.  

It was June 11^th 1979; my mother was on her way to the hospital to do her rounds when she found a baby girl choking on her own blood, beaten and premature right outside her gate, in the gutter. She wrapped her in a tee shirt and headed towards the hospital.

At the time, my mother ran an orphanage and it wasn’t unusual to encounter cases where mothers could no longer take care of their newborn and they were left either at her clinic or at her home. My sister’s case was unheard of really. The mother must have been very young and terrified of this new responsibility and the one thing she thought of was to kill her.

My mother, along with her team of doctors saved her.

Her clothes were customized for her tiny body: rolled sleeves and newly sewed onesies made by the nannies were wowed by go-passers. She was cute. Ericka went on to pre-k where she showed her classmates that she could do a whole 60 piece puzzle face-down. She did. She was a brilliant child.

Years later, I realized she wasn’t like my brother and I. I didn’t know what was wrong with her – she was smart but couldn’t comprehend a text in a book. She had numerous tutors to help her through schooling. She did. She was determined.

In her teenage years, she became a beautiful young woman; she had long legs, a C cup bra, and she had an amazing warm and inviting smile. At the time, I was struggling with zits, braces, puberty and my asthma. My mother always reminded me that I should look up to Ericka because she was the perfect Barbie and if I needed to look like that, I would have to watch what I eat (this is when my eating problems started).

Ericka and I grew apart then. She hated that I hated her for having the perfect body but deep down, we loved each other. But we were sisters. We fought because I would borrow her clothes without asking. We fought about what tv program to watch.  We fought if one of us took too long in the bathroom. We fought. all. the. time.  

It wasn’t until college that we became close. She never finished college – she was having problems with her classes and never went back. I think it was a combination of frustration and fear. Over the next few years, she took classes here and there to teach her new skills. Instead of college, she worked in retail until about 5 years ago, she became a manager; she manages a team and keeps track of the inventory of a big Corp. She works hard.  

When I came home from college, the roles were reversed – the day after graduation my parents moved to New Jersey from New York City. I was home a lot and it allowed Ericka and I to grow together and learn about one another and from each other. We talked about everything and anything. She has some of the best qualities one can ever ask for. She is kind and sincere; every year, she’d send birthday and Christmas cards to my girlfriends.

Everyone loves her but no one knows that she is struggling everyday with the little things that we take for granted.

She is my sister. Her name is Ericka.

Did I mention she speaks 4 languages? She does. She is an intelligent woman.