Chapter 10: Lazy Girl Summer
Let’s get one thing gloriously straight: she didn’t work for this vacation.
She
didn't embark on a 30-day detox. Didn't religiously hit the gym or yoga studio
to sculpt a "summer body." Not a single squat or Downward-facing dog was performed, nor did
she choke down that $20 green sludge she had popped into her shopping cart in a moment of sheer madness.
Nope.
She simply packed her swollen feet, unwashed hair, and a suitcase of wrinkled
clothes she'd forgotten were too tight, and she boarded the plane anyway. And saints
be praised, she brought her burnt-out, under-moisturized, gloriously bloated,
beautiful self to one of the most soulful places on earth.
Bali
Whispers Truths
Because it is so contradictory: at once peaceful and chaotic, wildly beautiful and wonderfully unkempt, a land of ancient temples to the gods and new sanctuaries for hedonists, hippies, and free spirits chasing ephemeral dreams.
Kanto
Lampo. The waterfalls here don't just whisper; they roar truths. Not in
picture-perfect, Insta-glow moments, but in generous splashes of cold water
that smacked her awake, shouting: You are here. You are allowed joy.
Especially like this.
She
arrived a stressed-out masterpiece. Her shoulders still carried the phantom
weight of a hundred unmarked papers. Her hands faintly smelled of whiteboard
markers. Her stomach churned with a mix of caffeine, quick bites, and a wild,
enduring ache that begged: Feed me anything, please. I beg you.
She
hadn't waxed. Hadn't plucked. Hadn't exfoliated since Eid. She’d even
forgotten her "good side." And then, thank God, she simply stopped
caring about it, about that elusive "one good angle" she used to
contort herself into.
She
wore the same soft black top three days in a row, and had the sheer audacity to
feel deeply comfortable. Imagine that.
By
Day Three, something wild began to unfurl within her. She looked in the mirror
-belly rolls grinning back, thighs unapologetic - and didn't flinch. She
devoured ramen like it was a birthright, a sacred ritual. Toasted herself with
sweet iced tea, the condensation cool against her palm. Took a long, delicious
nap in the middle of the day. Woke up soft, unburdened by guilt.
And
for once, she wasn't just surviving. She was living. Gently. A little wildly.
The
Unspoken Truths
Because
here’s the truth no one tells the girls who do too much and rest too little:
You
don’t have to be a size zero to live large. You don’t have to earn rest by
breaking yourself first. You don’t need lashes to see beauty. Or blowouts to be
seen.
So
she waddled up waterfall steps, her FUPA jiggling like an ovation from the gods
themselves. She took selfies with no filter and posted precisely nothing. She
napped without a flicker of remorse. She danced like she used to in her
twenties—bad knees, good hips, middle finger unapologetically in the air.
She
let her feet blister. Let her mascara smudge. Let her hair frizz in the
Balinese humidity like it was born for this climate, for this freedom.
She
wasn't pretty. She was radiant.
And
maybe that’s what Big Lazy Girl Summer is truly about.
It’s
not sloth or indulgence or giving up. It’s giving IN.
To
joy. To softness. To messy, middle-aged magnificence.
Because
this body, the one with stretch marks and a soft belly and laugh lines, has
more than earned the right to chase waterfalls. To lie in bed till noon. To
drink the full-fat coconut milk and lick the spoon clean. To show up to life,
not camera-ready, but soul-deep present.
So
here’s to her. To the woman who forgot herself for a while in the relentless
hustle, but found her way back in the steam rising off a hot spring. In a
sarong tied too tightly and a pair of sandals that gave her a blister but also
a new story. To the one who stopped sucking in and started exhaling.
May
she never again apologize for being tired. For not being tiny. For taking up
space in a world that insisted 60 was the time to shrink.
And
when she returned? A little softer. A little rounder. A little more irreverent.
She looked at her body, her schedule, her heart and said: “We’re doing it
differently from now on.”
She wasn’t a goddess. Or a saint. Or an influencer. She was something far richer: A woman who finally knew how to rest, and claim joy for herself!
A woman who, in her glorious fullness, was
finally…truly…free.
I will end my "Elder Diaries" series on a Call to Action:
"This isn't just her story; it's an invitation.
What part of your magnificent self
are you ready to celebrate, starting today?"
I'm celebrating my resilience
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