<!-- wp:paragraph -->Learning The Language of Bodies: How I Came to Love My Body and Embrace My Sexuality: <br /><br />While my two immediate elder sisters turned out “perfect”, I was stuck with the baby fat. Everyone said I would outgrow it as it was just baby fat after all, Tolu and Tola, my sisters were chubby as children. It would shed as you grow, they all said. But it didn’t.<br /><br />Primary school was a buzz. I never took the bullying to heart. Besides, I wasn’t among the top ten fattest girls in my school. Apart from the usual fatty bum-bum everyone called anyone unfortunate enough to be bigger than usual, nothing serious really happened. <br /><br />When seriousness of my looks started hitting home was during my emergence into puberty commenced. Remember they said I would be free from the confines of baby fat, right? Reverse was the case. At twelve, I entered secondary school and I stared wearing bras. Other than me, no one in my class did. <br /><br />My confinement by brassieres started one day when, Bola, the loud mouth big headed bully in JSS 1 noticed my dangling breasts one day during sports.<br /><br />We were asked by the P.E teacher to jog round the field as warm ups when this boy shouted “Ye! Mighty breasts in battle”. The whole field went silent as he almost choked on laughter. He pointed at my chest and continued “everybody’s breast is pointing in one direction but Lola’s breast is doing jangolover!”<br /><br />I had stopped cold in my tracks and everyone in our circle and a few people in others realized that truly, my breasts did not look like they were pointing accusing fingers at the Bola’s of this world but instead, they were big and round, pointing at my feet like they had a mind of their own to feel the embarrassment I was swimming in.<br /><br />The sound of laughter drowned out the voice of the P.E teacher who barely restrained his own, trying to restore a semblance of order to the field when I burst into tears and ran to my classroom block.<br /><br />Although my sisters in SS3 and SS1 cornered him and gave him slaps sound enough to leave his jaw numb for some minutes, a hole had been created in my heart. <br /><br />That was the day I stormed back home and asked my mother to buy me bras. She refused saying I was too young so, I started borrowing my sister’s. They were my size. <br /><br />Posterity has judged him now.  I last saw him loading buses at Yaba park, putting his loud mouth to good use. He still called me mighty breasts in battle.<br /><br />I read a writer who wrote “the worst mistake I have ever made was growing a butt.” My people, where’s the lie? This is my reality. Because of my body, I wasn’t allowed to grow as slowly as I would have preferred. When my sisters and I went out, even during my mid-teens, men would hit on me. My peers asked me to enjoy the attention as I was a fine girl but I couldn’t bring myself to. <br /><br /> A couple went as far as smacking my fat ass in public. God, it was so disgusting. The most annoying part about that phase of my life my life the humility it took it all with. “Uncle please, stop.” If I could go back in time, I would slap shege out of the eyes of my younger self. Because, why you bin mumu like that?<br /><br />One yeye boy that moved into our street that year stopped me to talk rubbish. said “you did not walk with your younger sisters today? Anyways, I like you. I have money. I can book hotel” all the while ogling my body. See me, I have suffered in this world. Me? Older sister?<br /><br />The university was not any better. Nothing prepared me for it. Not even my mom who had started making snide remarks like “make sure you join a sport team there or a gym. So, you can shed this fat and see who would marry you.<br /><br />Due to the effects of teenage-hood trauma, I sought validation from the wrong places. Fucked the first boy that told me he loved me more than his mother. He even told me he wanted a piece of that fat-ass. I thought it was cute. Turned out he was just a horny bastard. And I, a too willing mugu. <br /><br />Losing my virginity was trashy. It took about five minutes, tops. The boy was just pressing my neck, breasts and slapping my butt anyhow. “Are you enjoying it? Scream my name! Call me daddy!”. Brother, I’m in pain and I just want to breathe. Besides you have bad breath.<br /><br />He came in five minutes, took no notice or didn’t care about the blood-stained sheets and asked me “sugar, do you want some more?” anyways, we broke up two weeks after I discover he had fucked three other fat girls in the department.<br /><br />That was how my sex life went. Trashy. It was either they were there because they like fat women or they complained about my stretch mark or the fact that I was too heavy to carry during sex.<br /><br />I met Collins at the gym I had registered for a couple of months back. And unlike other men, he wasn’t there to sleep with me and run. Even though we had sex at his after two dates; don’t look at me like that, the man is fine. He has been here for me. He explored my body in ways I never would have imagined. When he called me beautiful, I looked into the eyes of someone who knew he was telling the truth. <br /><br />Turns out he’s a therapist, too. He identified my trauma long after we started dating. Noting how I was quick to apologize for my stretch marks, the way I look and how I made jokes about my fat. <br /><br />I hope you find the type of love I’ve found. The type you deserve. The one that tells you you’re enough. The one that pushes you to seek happiness within yourself and not tie your self-worth to someone else’s opinion. To everyone with struggles like mine, you’re good enough.<br /> <br /><!-- /wp:paragraph -->