[]they think I'm fat
[]they tell me to get my arms waxed
[]they tell me it'll be good for me to de-tan
[]they ask me why I have so many tattoos
[]they ask me why I made such permanent marks on myself not knowing how life will make me feel later.
[]they think I should grow my hair out
[]they think I should color my hair because it has greys now
[]they tell me I should do something about my skin, it's so bad
[]they give me tips to permanently solve my 20-year-old acne problem
[]they say my feet are darker than my legs
[]they tell me my leg hair are coarse but easy to wax, but they look hard and dark
[]they ask me if I have shaved my legs and ruined my leg hair forever
[]they tell me I should do peel-off masks to remove the marks on my legs
[]they ask me why my feet are so hard
[]they tell me I shouldn't have cracked heels
[]they tell me I shouldn't have blackheads
[]they disapprove of my eyebrows
[]they think it's wrong that I wax my eyebrows myself
[]they say my eyebrows are too bushy
[]they say my hands are a little rough looking
[]they ask me why I won't get manicures
[]they ask me why my cuticles are uncut
[]they suggest that I try to get rid of my stretch marks
[]they say I should use creams to reduce my scars
[]they think my hair is too boyish
[]they think my face and my hair don't go well for girls
[]they think I live at home because I have to
[]they wonder why I don't get married
[]they ask me if it's because I study too much
[]they suggest I should get married because everyone has to
[]they ask me why my parents don't say anything to me about my lifestyle
[]they say it's good to live with cats because at least I won't be alone
[]they object to my having so many cats and don't understand why I need them
[]they say they only say this because they want to help me
[]they say I need help

Now, read it like again, like you're in my head.

[]they think I'm fat; they don't know that I was told I was fat when I was 56 kilos, 63 kilos, 71 kilos, 77 kilos and now at 83 kilos, I don't know if that word means anything.

[]they tell me to get my arms waxed; I love my arms, my hairy, strong, sturdy, reliable, cat-carrying, dog-hugging arms and I wouldn't change anything about them.

[]they tell me it'll be good for me to de-tan; my brown color is my pride and joy, and I look forward to its turning hues and shades every season - it's one of the last true joys of living in the 21st Century and still being able to go out without a hazmat suit on.

[]they ask me why I have so many tattoos; I don't know how to explain to them that wearing my life's big moments on my skin makes me feel like I still make sense...if to myself.

[]they ask me why I made such permanent marks on myself not knowing how life will make me feel later; what is permanence but stagnancy shrouded as stability? And what is desirable about that?

[]they think I should grow my hair out; because it worked out so well when I let men play with my long hair and then, with me.

[]they think I should color my hair because it has some grey now; as if I would ever do anything to mess with nature's highlights.

[]they tell me I should do something about my skin, it's so bad; the skin on my face is a map to my youth, a pattern of peaks and valleys, wins and losses and many wonderfully silly days and I love every inch of it.

[]they give me tips to permanently solve my 20-year-old acne problem; I've had a relationship with my zits since I was 14-15, I carried them through well into my 20s and now that they have left, I have kept their luggage still. These marks are my keepsake from a life lived despite.

[]they say my feet are darker than my legs; uniformity is such a foreign concept to skin color, but it must be hard to accept if your entire world revolves around how accepted you feel by others.

[]they tell me my leg hair are coarse but easy to wax, but they look hard and dark; how unforgiving it must be to always maintain a harsh rating system for your own limbs.

[]they ask me if I shaved my legs and ruined my leg hair forever; science, facts, biology can all go fuck themselves, because once an old wives' tale, always an urban legend.

[]they tell me I should do peel-off masks to remove the marks on my legs; the scar from an old rash, a cut that never got stitched up, the first pock mark from when I had chickenpox, a heart-in-a-heart birthmark, 1000 kitten scratches and counting (god-willing), countless bruises and tan lines - a life lived re vera writ on my unfailing legs and they want me to wash it all off for the sake of bland, plain, impersonal expanses of skin. No.

[]they ask me why my feet are so hard; how do I tell them that I use my feet in sickness and in health?

[]they tell me I shouldn't have cracked heels; I really should, though. I climb mountains and run on the road.

[]they tell me I shouldn't have blackheads; I don't. They're talking about unbleached hair on my face. I can't even.

[]they disapprove of my eyebrows; because it's not eyebrows unless they look like someone took away all the hair on their forehead and then gave them two pieces cut from the same stick-on handlebar mustache to paste anywhere above their eyes?

[]they think it's wrong that I wax my eyebrows myself; for the first ten years that I used to get my brows done, I used to hate them and could never get the lady to do them right. I'm happy now.

[]they say my eyebrows are too bushy; hmmm. OK.

[]they say my hands are a little rough looking; they're the only pair I got and they work well in the worst of times. They are also like cotton, warm in the winters and cool in the summers.

[]they ask me why I won't get manicures; because they are a waste of time and for people who have the extra cash and no animals to save (which, by the way, in my opinion should be no one).

[]they ask me why my cuticles are uncut; I don't know what that means. My fingers are also snacks for when I am watching a thriller and don't want to get up to make popcorn.

[]they suggest that I try to get rid of my stretch marks; thank god they did, because otherwise I would never know what else to hate about my body.

[]they say I should use creams to reduce my scars; because it really is the worst thing to have your skin bear witness to your actual life.

[]they think my hair is too boyish; yes, and...?

[]they think my face and my hair don't go well for girls; 'for girls'.

[]they think I live at home because I have to; I don't. I live at home because it would be wasteful to live away in the same city, and we are just four people and five cats who love one another too much to separate.

[]they wonder why I don't get married; I don't. I know why.

[]they ask me if it's because I study too much; it isn't, but I allow them this ignorance for lack of a simpler explanation that I might be willing to proffer.

[]they suggest I should get married because everyone has to; that's not really true, not even for India in this day and age.

[]they ask me why my parents don't say anything to me about my lifestyle; because they genuinely love me and know me and don't care what I do as long as I am safe, happy and healthy.

[]they say it's good to live with cats because at least I won't be alone; loneliness knows me by name.*

[]they object to my having so many cats and don't understand why I need them; just like I don't understand the point of having an opinion on my pets, in my house, on my life, while on a waxing job as hired help, on my money, if I'm being frank.

[]they say they only say this because they want to help me; Yes, I'm sure that's the reason and not that they have no foundation nor inclination for talking about politics, society, knowledge, education, family, food, cinema, music, interior decoration, roads, government, money, mobile phones, climate or a million other things that are literally in front of them, should they choose to indulge or examine.

[]they say I need help; I do, but not this kind. I do, but not from them. I do, but from them only in removing hair from my legs. I do, but who doesn't?

This post was a reaction/response to my at-home salon appointment yesterday, when for the hundredth time the servicewoman attacked me, unprovoked, about some of these things and left me with lighter legs and a heavier heart.

*this is a song by Westlife. I wish I’d written it though.