“Big breasts maybe the object of desire, but living with the twins isn’t easy. For one, you are the “girl with big boobs”. I wasn’t always aware about it.
The awakening was well, abrasive… more like a rude shock. As my breasts got fuller, I found my friend tugging my inch-wide bra-strap, to relay the message that I’ve have become a “woman of age”. Or men would cat-call, obviously drawing the attention to my breasts, that I was somehow responsible for their erect penis.
Growing up, Amma often told me that my breasts were too big and saggy; and that no man would ever want to be with me since it was a thing of shame. Although said lightly, her words already hit me like arrows, jabbing into me and plucking out the self-esteem I managed to gather. Before I knew it, I internalised that thought.
She was clearly gifted with foresight since men often turned out to be the type. They didn’t want to know me; they only wanted to see me.
One good thing about being an adult is you choose what affects you. With time, the tides turned. My relationship with my breasts slowly changed. I decided to own my breasts, and my body. No more did I cover it with a dupatta or a jacket — this was an exercise in me subconsciously apologising for the size of my breasts. I wear
neck-deep dresses very well knowing that my bosom will get all the attention.
The men in my life too helped me improve my relationship with my body. My breasts weren’t “too big” or “saggy.” It was “beautiful”; it was “divine”. Some may call me crass or vain; I call it being self-aware of femininity. My breasts have given me the confidence to be the person I am.
Every time, a man (a lover or a potential one) has complimented my breasts or made love to it, I have this happy, heady feeling that rushes through me. My body feels warranted.
Amma was wrong. Men want to be with me; & this time, I choose.”
They wanted a water body.
Background inspiration: Frances MacDonald Mcnair’s Girl and Butterflies.