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B is for Boobs

My boobs and I,
A tale of pride and shame, love and hate, bittersweet memories of then and now. I put on a vest-like top that showed too much cleavage. I felt beautiful and powerful. I have an uncanny habit of showing too much cleavage. Multiple times, I've been ogled, reprimanded, or even lusted after. However this habit has a lot of history behind it. It goes way back to when I was a nine years old girl.

I was a little third grader, I played around with my little neighbors and everything was fine. One day I felt pain in my chest, more particularly my nipples. A few days later, I started growing breasts. I felt so proud and happy, I showed them to whoever was in close proximity. My mom ended up grounding me.

I felt so grown up, like I was on top of everyone in my class. However, this feeling was short-lived. My breasts grew bigger and fatter, by fifth grade I was forced to wear a bra. This, I resisted and would only wear them occasionally. More than just my breasts grew fat, and I felt like the Rwandan Frankenstein.

I had body image issues, and was fat shamed more than once. I starved myself, with the sole excuse that the food was terrible. My boobies sagged, and they were ugly. I recovered some of the weight in a more healthy way. I found out how powerful a perfectly exposed cleavage can be, and I used it to my advantage.

I can not count the number of times I had reduced  transport fees because of my exposed cleavage. I would  sense people's eyes ogling, burning into my chest. I savored every second of it.  At least, this kept the fear of not conforming. The fear of being the girl forced to wear bras at age 11. For a while,  the euphoria of being seen covered my fears and pain.

I still show off my cleavage on special occasion. However, I no longer do this for anyone’s approval. After a long, sometimes painful, stage of my life, I  learnt to feel comfortable in my skin. I know I can feel beautiful dressed in a potato bag- when need be.

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