Do Something Beautiful

Do something beautiful

In the first grade I got called fat for the first time. A four eyed, greasy haired, 7 year old in love with bacon, I was what you called…plump. See I was blessed with more Chins than a Chinese phone book, more rolls than King’s Hawaiian, and my head looked like someone molded a face onto a ball of dough and dropped it before it ever made it into the oven. I had A-cups by the time I was 8 and to top it all off I my love for food had caused me to swell up like Christina Aguilera after Burlesque.

Long story short, I ate my feelings and both elementary and middle school passed me like the burrito I ate this morning and I hit high school.

I remember passing through the park trying to be cool with my brand new Converse sneakers, my mouth full of Twix, but hearing the snickers and whispers of these teens, throwing insults  and slurs; the words of my peers piercing my skin like razor blades in the wind taking my confidence and scattering it like the leaves on the concrete.

And it was in that moment I first experienced insecurity. And I first learned that the size of my body and the way that I looked would be the merit of my being.

I remember feeling that I was beyond hope, that I can’t cope,

Like no one’s words could comfort me.

And how all I wanted to do was to conform to society’s idea of hot;

And transform myself into something I’m not;

To the point of forcing myself not to eat the whole day just so I can have the chance to say, "Hey, I lost a pound today."

See, I was raised to believe that my body is a temple; that I am perfect just the way I am.

I was given a temple and yet all I saw was a fat dirty shack. 

I would stare at my reflection and not recognize who’s staring back

Constantly wondering what the hell it is I lack

Because I'm obviously incapable of having a person love me back

And I remember being told by my very own sister

She said people don’t like guys that don’t have six-packs. 

And I mean don’t get me wrong she was just trying to keep it real but I remember thinking

“Damn, being fat is like playing the Dating Game on hard. ULTRA hard”.

And then I had an epiphany, a eureka, a DAMN I’M GOOD moment.

And I thought “do something beautiful and not give a damn”

Do something beautiful and look beyond the fat and imperfections and appreciate what’s inside.

Do something beautiful and realize that the number on the scale is just a number and that in no way does it define my character, my self-worth, or my dignity. 

Do something beautiful and eat that last Poptart, because let’s face it, it’s ooey it’s gooey it’s delicious and it’s gonna expire soon.

Do something beautiful and look at that fine ass person in the mirror and say

“Hey…How you doin?"

Because I’ve learned that my worst enemy was not the world’s superficiality but myself.

See society turned my vision into a funhouse, contorting it with the images and the promises of the perfect arms or the perfect legs or the perfect stomach or the perfect back and so I would starve and I would binge until the whole world went black because life had taught me that I will never be good enough.

But as Mr. Shihan Van Clief once said, “Real eyes, Realize, Real lies

[So I had to use my] real eyes to realize their real lies” and know

That the person in that mirror is beautiful and people are in no position to scrutinize.

And anyone who said otherwise, better recognize that it’s what’s inside that matters and apologize.

Because it was people like them who made people like me experience what I shouldn’t, and feel like I couldn’t go on, like I can’t move on from this phase of insecurity.

Well here I am, 5’9 210 pounds, content with how I am.

Am I skinny? No. 

Do I have a six Pack? Hell no

But I am Bryan Jorrel Fausto Javier and I’m sexy and I know it, 

I own it, I own who I am because I’ve done something beautiful and accepted myself. 

I have 7 chins, love handles, and 36A cups but I don’t care

Cause I’ve learned “if you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gon love somebody else”*

*RuPaulDo something beautiful

In the first grade I got called fat for the first time. A four eyed, greasy haired, 7 year old in love with bacon, I was what you called…plump. See I was blessed with more Chins than a Chinese phone book, more rolls than King’s Hawaiian, and my head looked like someone molded a face onto a ball of dough and dropped it before it ever made it into the oven. I had A-cups by the time I was 8 and to top it all off I my love for food had caused me to swell up like Christina Aguilera after Burlesque.

Long story short, I ate my feelings and both elementary and middle school passed me like the burrito I ate this morning and I hit high school.

I remember passing through the park trying to be cool with my brand new Converse sneakers, my mouth full of Twix, but hearing the snickers and whispers of these teens, throwing insults  and slurs; the words of my peers piercing my skin like razor blades in the wind taking my confidence and scattering it like the leaves on the concrete.

And it was in that moment I first experienced insecurity. And I first learned that the size of my body and the way that I looked would be the merit of my being.

I remember feeling that I was beyond hope, that I can’t cope,

Like no one’s words could comfort me.

And how all I wanted to do was to conform to society’s idea of hot;

And transform myself into something I’m not;

To the point of forcing myself not to eat the whole day just so I can have the chance to say, "Hey, I lost a pound today."

See, I was raised to believe that my body is a temple; that I am perfect just the way I am.

I was given a temple and yet all I saw was a fat dirty shack. 

I would stare at my reflection and not recognize who’s staring back

Constantly wondering what the hell it is I lack

Because I'm obviously incapable of having a person love me back

And I remember being told by my very own sister

She said people don’t like guys that don’t have six-packs. 

And I mean don’t get me wrong she was just trying to keep it real but I remember thinking

“Damn, being fat is like playing the Dating Game on hard. ULTRA hard”.

And then I had an epiphany, a eureka, a DAMN I’M GOOD moment.

And I thought “do something beautiful and not give a damn”

Do something beautiful and look beyond the fat and imperfections and appreciate what’s inside.

Do something beautiful and realize that the number on the scale is just a number and that in no way does it define my character, my self-worth, or my dignity. 

Do something beautiful and eat that last Poptart, because let’s face it, it’s ooey it’s gooey it’s delicious and it’s gonna expire soon.

Do something beautiful and look at that fine ass person in the mirror and say

“Hey…How you doin?"

Because I’ve learned that my worst enemy was not the world’s superficiality but myself.

See society turned my vision into a funhouse, contorting it with the images and the promises of the perfect arms or the perfect legs or the perfect stomach or the perfect back and so I would starve and I would binge until the whole world went black because life had taught me that I will never be good enough.

But as Mr. Shihan Van Clief once said, “Real eyes, Realize, Real lies

[So I had to use my] real eyes to realize their real lies” and know

That the person in that mirror is beautiful and people are in no position to scrutinize.

And anyone who said otherwise, better recognize that it’s what’s inside that matters and apologize.

Because it was people like them who made people like me experience what I shouldn’t, and feel like I couldn’t go on, like I can’t move on from this phase of insecurity.

Well here I am, 5’9 210 pounds, content with how I am.

Am I skinny? No. 

Do I have a six Pack? Hell no

But I am Bryan Jorrel Fausto Javier and I’m sexy and I know it, 

I own it, I own who I am because I’ve done something beautiful and accepted myself. 

I have 7 chins, love handles, and 36A cups but I don’t care

Cause I’ve learned “if you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gon love somebody else”*

*RuPaul