Yo-yo: Or, What Your Profile Pic Says About You

Hello, Friends!

I used to enjoy taking my clothes off in public. In fact, at junk trips, I'd be one of those boys who are quick to strip to the teeny-tiniest bathers that would reveal everything, including my soul. I used to be utterly shameless at circuit parties. I'd take my shirt off before everybody else did. And at orgies... oops. Never mind.

Recently however, I got addicted to work. So the ole' gym routine took a back seat whilst I got all too preoccupied with creating The Legend of James Gannaban. Plus, it's just hard to keep fit when you're pounding away at Microsoft Outlook for most of the day, really, instead of doing five grueling, muscle-calcifying shows daily in Disney. That's a no-brainer.

I've been so disgusted with my shape lately, I've even taken to wearing clothes at home, at all times. I'd only take my clothes off in the dark, after I've safely retreated under the safety of the duvet.

Keeping in shape doesn't come naturally to me. I'm the biggest yo-yo dieter outside of the Oprah Winfrey. I used to weigh 200 pounds, with a 40-inch waistline. Thankfully, when I turned 18, my parents forcibly outed me, which heralded a glorious transition into adulthood. I discovered boys, sex, and my inner mojo. And as soon as I started seeing results of my hard work in the gym, I'd hurriedly plaster my new photos on Guys4Men, Fridae, Gaydar, etc. "Look at me! Look at Me! Let's Play!"

Back to today and having a stable, satisfying and almost 4-year long relationship.

I let myself go.

And I'm panicking because I just figured out through neuro-linguistic programming that Chris is a "visual owl." Which means I'm at risk of getting dumped the moment I become ugly, which is soon - if I don't do something real quick. Eek.

So yesterday I jump-started a gym routine. It was easier than I thought it'd be. The most difficult bit was getting myself into the gym in the first place, and then realizing soon enough that I'm in worse shape than I first thought I was.

Gyms are nasty. You are lit by fluorescent light from every possible angle, and this illumination strips away any shred of self-respect, if you look less perfect than Hugh Jackman.

After gym, I proceeded to rehearse Fabiola's look for FINDS' 7th anniversary & grand opening party. My frock didn't fit. My boy parts (i.e. huge rib cage and beer gut) were shocking. This, following only four days after the tailor had taken my measurements to give me a better fit.

"Fabiola is a truck driver who just had a big burger at a greasy gas station," I messaged Anna, my boss.

"Auch. Don't be too hard on yourself," she replied.

OK, I was beyond panic; I am in crisis mode.

Chubby twinks are cute. Chubby almost-30, not so much.

So I dug out old photos of myself to see how, with a bit of determination, I can get back some control over my body.

I'm somewhere between inspired and desperate.

With Afection,
James

GETTING SKINNY: 2001. I started dropping weight in uni, after my parents forcedly outed me. I discovered boys and rainbow belts.

CHUBBY AGAIN: 2002. Starlet the-world-is-my-oyster moment.

LESS CHUBBY: 2003. My portrait for ABS-CBN's Star in a Million

PRE-BEAR: 2004. Tuguegarao City. My first and only solo concert.

SKINNY: 2005, pre-Hong Kong. Working like a dog.

ALMOST BEEFY: 2006. Look, world! I'm a shameless Disney twink and I'm doing an underwear show!

ALMOST SCRAWNY: 2007, Post-Disney, Livin' La Vida Pobre, at the rooftop of my Yau Ma Tei walk-up, ribs sticking out.

CHUBBY: 2008. Just got together with Chris, enjoying the "glow" of being coupled.

SKINNY-FOR-A-WHILE: 2009. Bangkok. I've just quit working two jobs within three months of each other; I don't know what to do with my life.

FATTER: 2010, Bacuit, Palawan. I'm so in love and content, I've stopped working out altogether.

DUMPY: 2011. Shooting on location with Mr Gay Hong Kong, Heihei Yau. I'm so FAT, I have to swaddle myself in clothes. LOTS of clothes.