If you are reading this, then I commend you for your actions and I pray that what you are reading now may prove worthy of your time.

I am Lay.

And this is my story.

I wasn’t always fat mind you. Not that people perceive me as fat right now either, but I’m sure they are just being nice, because who would call someone who let’s face it, has a double chin and love handles, skinny? People would only call you that to make them feel better about themselves. It’s something girls would do.

It’s disheartening as you watch other people run around the beach, semi-, shirtless. You look at their toned bodies, and then you look back at your flabby pale belly. And even as you look down, you can feel the double chin forming from underneath.

That’s why I hate summer. I hate how it’s so hot and humid every day, how little people wear, how I always end up devouring tubs of ice-cream which only leads to more weight gain. But there was a time when I liked summer.

I loved summer.

And no, I’m not going to go on a wonderful sunshine fluffball of romance, where I met my high school crush and everything was perfect, until one day she died in a car crash or something. There was no romance involved. I simply enjoyed summer for it was summer. A time when I could skip along the beaches’ shores, as my hands swept across the surface of the water, creating ripples that trailed behind me. A time when I was carefree and simply enjoyed the company of my friends.

But as time went on, everyone around me found their own interests and planned out their future goal. I was left behind with no goal in life. My parent’s also grew anxious and impatient as they watched me struggle through my last year of high school, taking the university entrance exams with the slightest degree of interest. Not because I didn’t want to attend a prestigious university, but simply because I couldn’t see the point of trying to get into one as I had no clue as to what I would do in the future.

The results came in shortly after. I congratulated my friends as they were all offered spots in high ranking universities. One of them chose a medicine course, while the other pursued his dream as a lawyer. Another one preferred the thought of biochemistry whilst another took on optometry. At the celebratory party, I did congratulate each and every one of my friends whole-heartedly as I was genuinely content for their hard efforts, however once I returned home, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.

I didn’t even know why I cried. I never had a goal in the first place, yet I was so disappointed with a mark that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was.

I cried.

And ate.

And slept.

Like a freak.

Why was I even crying? Why am I so pathetic? Why do I shove my hand down packets of chips and ing out fried slices of potato covered in oil? Why do I tumble onto the bed as I do this and fall asleep crying only to wake up with puffy eyes?

Who am I and why am I here?

“I am Lay. I am Lay.” I would repeat to myself.

“No I’m not, I’m Yixing.” I would counteract.

Who am I and why am I here?

I am Yixing. And I am an idealist.