When I Was 118kg — My Journey, My Story

 The Woman I Was, The Woman I Am
At 118 kilos, I still walked with pride,
With laughter and memories along for the ride.
My feet cried, “Enough!” but my spirit stayed strong,
One step at a time, I kept moving along.

Looking back at this photo, I don't dislike the woman I see.

That's still me. She laughed, travelled, took photos and carried on with life. But she was also carrying a lot of weight, and eventually her poor feet told her they couldn't tahan anymore.

So if you're reading this while struggling with something similar, I'm not here to tell you what you should weigh or how quickly you should change.

I just want to tell you that I was once there too.

Start wherever you are. Take whatever small step you can.

And don't forget to laugh along the way. 

After all, if I can't laugh at my old 118kg self, who am I supposed to laugh at?

I’m sharing my story, not trying to prove it. Whether you believe it or not, I was the one whose feet had to carry 118kg around. 

When I Was 118kg... And My Feet Filed For Resignation! 

At my heaviest, I weighed around 118kg.

Yes. ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN.

My weighing scale didn't say anything, but I'm quite sure every time I stepped on it, it whispered:

“Aunty… one at a time please.” 

Eventually the joke wasn't only on the weighing scale. My poor feet had to carry me everywhere.

Feet: “We never signed up for this job.”

Me: “Walk lah!”

Feet: “CANNOT TAHAN ALREADY!” 

There came a point when walking became genuinely difficult because so much weight was bearing down on my feet.

And THAT was when I knew something had to change.

If I Carry On Bloating... 

HOW AM I GOING TO TRAVEL?!✈️😱

I used to tell Hubby: “Like that later aeroplane reject me, how? I still need to travel leh!” 

Imagine arriving at the airport.

Airline Staff: “Madam, your suitcase is within the baggage allowance.”

Me: “Wonderful!”

Staff looked at me.

Then at the aeroplane.

Then back at me.

Airline Staff: “Unfortunately… we have another problem.”

Me: “WHAT PROBLEM?!”

Staff: “Madam, perhaps tonight you travel by cargo?”

HELLOOOOO!!! 

I run a travel blog!

But jokes aside...

The Long Road — Diets, Exercise And The Yo-Yo Ride

For me, losing weight wasn't a straight road.

I tried exercise. I tried dieting. I even tried medication.

Sometimes the weight came down.

Then it went back up.

Down again.

Up again.

I was practically living on a human yo-yo. 🪀

Dieting wasn't exactly turning me into Miss Sunshine either.

I was hungry most of the time, which meant I was also GROUCHY most of the time.

Someone could probably have asked me a perfectly innocent question...

“What time is it?”

And Hungry Me would be thinking:

“WHY?! YOU WANT TO EAT THE CLOCK IS IT?!” 

Exercise should have helped, but there was another problem.

My legs and feet were already hurting from carrying so much weight, so there was only so much exercise I could manage.

And whenever I did manage to drag myself to the gym, I swear the exercise machines looked worried the moment they saw me approaching. 

Treadmill: “Eh… she's coming.”

Exercise Bike: “Don't look at me.”

Treadmill: “WHY NOT?!”

Exercise Bike: “Last week already my suspension got trauma.”

Me: “OI! I CAN HEAR YOU!” 

Treadmill: quietly checking warranty expiry date 

But behind all the jokes, exercising really wasn't easy. My legs hurt, my feet hurt, and sometimes my body simply couldn't do as much as I wanted it to.

It became a frustrating circle.

Lose some. Gain some. Try again. Get hungry. Get grouchy. Hurt. Stop. Start again.

And this didn't happen over a few weeks.

It was a long journey.

There were times when I wondered whether anything was ever going to work for me.

But I hadn't reached the end of my story yet. 

When Walking Became A Struggle

Things eventually became worse.

There came a point when something as ordinary as taking the MRT became a challenge.

I could be sitting comfortably on the train, watching my station approach, but getting from my seat to the door in time to alight became something I had to worry about.

Walking was even harder.

Three steps. Stop.

The pain would shoot through my legs.

Wait for it to ease.

Walk again. Stop again.

Sometimes I would limp my way along, little by little, because that was all my legs could manage.

Until then, I had spent years worrying about my weight. I had tried dieting, exercise and medication. I had dealt with hunger, frustration and the endless yo-yo effect.

But now it wasn't just about the number on the weighing scale anymore.

My body was telling me that something was seriously wrong.

Then came the doctor's news.

There was a serious problem with the veins in my legs.

I remember hearing that and thinking:

What next?

The answer was surgery.

I eventually underwent surgery on both legs, with affected veins removed.

Suddenly, all those earlier struggles—the diets that didn't last, the exercise I couldn't manage because of the pain, the weight going down and coming back up—seemed very small compared with what I was facing now.

I can laugh today about exercise machines being frightened when they saw me coming.

But there was nothing funny about standing somewhere and wondering whether I could manage the next few steps.

Nothing funny about limping.

Nothing funny about worrying whether I could reach the MRT door before it closed.

And nothing funny about realising that my health had reached the point where I needed surgery.

That was when my journey stopped being simply about losing weight.

It became about getting my life—and my mobility—back. 

Surgery Done... Hourglass Figure? NO! 

So, you think after the surgery on both my legs I walked out of the hospital with brand-new legs, shed all my excess weight and magically returned to an hourglass figure?

NO.

If only surgery came with that kind of free gift. 

The operation helped. The pain eased and, for the next year or two, life became more manageable.

But there was one rather large problem that hadn't disappeared.

My weight.

It was still there.

The surgery had dealt with the problems in my legs, but it hadn't dealt with the reason my poor legs were carrying such a heavy load in the first place.

And about two years later, the problems started coming back.

That was when things took another turn.

I was referred to the hospital's weight management team.

By then, this wasn't about wanting to look slim, fitting into pretty clothes or dreaming about some long-lost hourglass figure.

I wanted to be able to walk without pain.

Eventually, I underwent two more surgeries this time specifically to deal with my weight.

And if you think I was bravely inspecting everything afterward...

Absolutely NOT.

The post-surgery care was something I could hardly bear to look at.

Me: “Don't show me! Don't show me!” 🙈

There are some things in life where ignorance is very peaceful. 

But this was also when I realised just how important the people around me were.

When I couldn't bear to look, my family looked for me.

When there were things I couldn't manage myself, they helped me.

When recovery was difficult, they were there.

It may have been my body going through the operations, but I wasn't going through the journey alone.

Looking back now, I remember the pain and the fear.

But I also remember the hands that helped me through it. 

And perhaps that was one of the biggest lessons from those years:

Sometimes being strong doesn't mean doing everything yourself. Sometimes strength is allowing the people who love you to stand beside you when you need them most.

The hourglass figure?

Still nowhere to be seen. 

But by then, I had something far more important to work towards.

Getting my life back. 

 Forty Kilos Lighter... And Thankful ❤️

After everything I had been through, thankfully, the weight finally started coming down.

Eventually, I reached around 70kg.

From 118kg.

I remember looking at that number and thinking...

Where did almost 50kg of me go?! 

Over the years my weight naturally moved up a little again — blame my lifelong love affair with food. 

And anyone who has read this blog knows there is absolutely no point in me pretending otherwise.

Food and I are very good friends.

Me: “I must control.”

Food: “Hello.”

Me: “……okay, come here.” 

But there was one big difference now.

I had learned control.

At first, controlling how much I ate was difficult. Very difficult.

I had spent years being used to eating a certain way, and habits don't magically disappear overnight.

But slowly, discipline became easier.

One meal at a time.

One choice at a time.

One year at a time.

And now, about ten years later, although I've gained a few kilos from my lowest weight, I've managed to keep roughly 40kg off.

When I think about that, I don't feel disappointed about those few kilos.

I feel thankful.

Thankful that I can move around more easily.

Thankful that my poor feet no longer have to carry that extra 40kg everywhere I go.

Thankful that I can travel, wander around gardens, explore places, hunt for food and take the thousands of photographs that eventually landed me with this crazy blog-renovation project. 

Most of all, I'm thankful that I didn't give up during those years when nothing seemed to work.

I still love food.

VERY MUCH. 

The difference is that nowadays I try to enjoy it without letting it control me.

And perhaps that's something I would tell anyone who is struggling with their own weight today:

Your journey doesn't have to look like mine.

What worked for me may not be right for somebody else, and there is no single number on a weighing scale that everybody should aim for.

But if you're struggling, please don't think that one setback means your journey is over.

I had plenty of them.

I dieted.

I exercised when I could.

I tried medication.

My weight went down and came back.

My legs hurt.

I underwent surgeries.

There were days when even walking a few steps was difficult.

It was not an easy road.

But today, when I look back at the woman who weighed 118kg, I don't laugh at her.

I can laugh with her, because she's still me. 

She just didn't know yet where her journey was going to take her.

And if I could tell that old me one thing, it would simply be:

“Hang in there. One day, those panda pants are going to fall straight off you.” 🐼❤️

The Day My Panda Pants Gave Up On Me 🐼

There was one particular pair of pants I used to love.

My panda pants.

I wore them when I was much heavier, and they fitted me perfectly then. Comfortable, cute and very much part of my wardrobe.

Years later, after I had lost all that weight, I came across them again.

I looked at those familiar pandas and thought:

“Eh! My old favourite! Let me try!”

So I put them on.

For a few glorious seconds, I stood there admiring my reunion with my beloved panda pants.

Then...

WHOOSH!

Straight down they went. 

Me: “OI!!!”

🐼 Panda Pants: “Sorry. We can no longer fulfil our duties.”

Me: “Last time you were so loyal to me!”

🐼: “Madam, last time we had something to hold on to.”

I couldn't stop laughing.

But underneath that funny little moment was something quite special.

Those panda pants had once fitted the woman who weighed 118kg.

Now they couldn't even stay around my waist.

No weighing scale was needed that day.

My panda pants had delivered the progress report. 

I kept thinking about everything that had happened between th

Those panda pants have now become historical evidence. 

Looking Back... With Gratitude ❤️

Looking back, this journey was never simply about going from 118kg to a smaller number on the weighing scale.

It was about pain, frustration, failed attempts, surgeries, recovery, discipline and learning how to live differently.

Most importantly, it was about the people who stood beside me when things became difficult.

Today, I'm still someone who loves her food — some things will never change! But after all these years, I've learned to enjoy it with a little more control and a lot more appreciation.

I've gained a few kilos from my lowest weight, and that's okay with me. I'm simply thankful that, after almost ten years, I've managed to keep roughly 40kg off and can continue doing something I love very much...

Wandering. 

So when I look back at the old me, I don't feel ashamed of her.

She was me.

She struggled. She hurt. She kept going.

And eventually, she made it here.

As for those famous panda pants?

🐼 They may need a string around the waist nowadays... but they've certainly earned their place in my story. 

And with that, this wander down memory lane comes to an end.