41.3 kg. 

The number that looks back at me as I stare at myself in the reflection of the delicate glass scale. This was the first time I truly valued my existence in my appearance, my weight, my measurements. 

You will never be enough. 

Run over, my frail body of just 13 years is crushed. I stand there, dumbfounded, in just my bra and underwear, the eyes of a dozen adults glazing over every imperfection, every flaw. 

"She looks so young."

"She's too short." 

"She doesn't fit the market."

I thought I would feel beautiful. 

Oh baby, how wrong I was. 

43.5 kg. 

"You've gained weight."

The phrase that will always ring in my mind. What happened to the high fashion magazines? The glamorous wedding dresses? 

I stand in the middle of Shinjuku, dressed in head-to-toe pink, bright blue lipstick, six-inch heels, and to tie it all together - my hair is in an afro. 

I look like a fool. 

Bursts of laughter echo with every passerby.

I'm done. 

48.1 kg.

I'm seated, waiting for my name to be called. Hundreds of other girls in the same position - many I know. 

A Shiseido campaign, imagine. 

The room is quiet; the wrecks of anticipation halt everyone. My agent is seated to my left; he examines my comp card - a summary of my work, partners, and, most importantly, my measurements. 

The thin film of silence is broken. "芹奈さま" - my name is called; I quickly stand up. All eyes illuminate attention to us, to me.

I introduced myself to the casting agent and handed him my comp card. He gestures to the X marked in front of the camera; I pose as the photographer takes a couple of shots and then thanks me for my time. 

I take a few steps toward the door; my agent meets my side. 

"子供じゃないんだから。もっと痩せれば？ - You are not a little girl anymore - lose the weight."

How could something I once loved make me feel like this?