When I was eight, I stood behind the changing curtains in ballet school and overheard a group of girls in the advanced class. They were saying one of the girls shouldn’t be dancing since she was so ‘fat’ and ‘chubby’. The small thought that it could be me in her place, with my friends speaking about me that way, nagged at the back of my head. It suddenly became glaringly obvious that my ballet teachers were unusually thin. Ballet wasn’t so fun anymore after that……

Picture this.

You’re feeling sad. You describe it the best way you can, only for nobody to understand you. You attempt to explain yourself over and over. It’s as clear as day for you, but why doesn’t anyone else get it? You begin to get frustrated, and angry. Maybe you start shouting. Or crying – large, heaving sobs that make it harder for you to speak. At this point, people start backing away. Maybe they get mad too and yell back at you. They give up on listening. They leave. You’re alone, and feeling worse than before…

Self-acceptance has always been an issue I grappled with, and I believe it is of good reason. Hailing from a Chinese primary school, academics is one of — if not the most glorified — aspect in the Asian context. I was the antithesis of the ideal Asian student: the boy in the last class with a weak grasp of the Chinese language. I’ve always thought I was too stupid to even have friends. Who would want to be associated with me? I was the kid who sat alone in class, too afraid to even ask the teacher for permission to go to the bathroom. I just couldn’t help feeling invisible…