On the pursuit of happy-ness

#MyStudiesShow that you grow more Hedonistic the longer you lived in America.

On [Keto, Paleo, Military] diets

#MyStudiesShow that you will gain it back. If not all of it, a good amount of it. Your weight doesn’t evaporate. You don’t pee it out, it doesn’t melt down the drain. It is out there, looking for ya. Searching for its owner like a lost dog. It is in the pastry that winks at you, in the alcohol you look away from, in the exercise you traded for a lazy night in front of the TV.

With every food you ate, for every choice you made, for all the minutes you spent without moving your ass; it is creeping nearer and nearer. You hate your body, so your body hates you. It hates the fact that you are a woman, that you wanted to go to school, that you chose to have a career. And fat is your body’s way of telling you it hates you. By converting everything you ate into fat, through weakened metabolism, through hateful self-talk, it keeps you down in the ditch, a captive to it.

Breaking free does not make your enemy like you better. It does not let it look at your efforts, your sacrifices, this new-found…fragile…slimmer you with kind eyes.

So it sabotages you by calling to the grease, by dog-whistling for it every time you went to the break room to get carrots and came across the box of donuts/the free pizza. It beckons to it every time you stood in line for a Starbucks coffee around Christmas time/near Halloween. It mocks and cackles at you every time you passed someone as big as you used to be; reminding you how any day now… unless you can stick to it… there but for the grace of god…..

Making you wonder how long you can keep doing this to yourself. How far must you go before you can arrive at a place of rest. If it was even worth it.

You don’t believe me?

Ok. Go ahead: keep thinking you will be able to stick to it this time. Hope it would go away, and stay away. That you are a changed woman. That you will never go back there, ever.

Just don’t throw away the plus size pants.  They are your only friends. Or would be, when you gain it all back, as you would. Your fat would finally fnd you, give you a big hug, and not let go. That is when the XLs, the 18/22/24/26/28 size pants come handy.


On Rammstien’s “Ausländer”

#MyStudiesShow that Rammstein’s “Ausländer” [the video anyway] is vulgar, racist, and ignorant of the fact that Africans [or Asian, or even East-Indians] didn’t receive white settlers with songs, dances, and naked-breasts. That they resisted, fought against, and – in Ethiopia’s case – even defeated [twice if you will believe it] colonial powers who first came to their shore pretending to be God-fearing missionaries.

[Read “Things Fall Apart” by Chinua Achebe, idiot!]



On Mira Jacob’s book, “Good Talk”

#MyStudiesShow that everyone wants to play a victim. From black, to East-Indian, to Asian; everyone wants to share some sob story of how victimized they are by America’s race problem. Asians who can’t get into Harvard because there a million of them in there, Beauty-Queen Indian women with white husbands and posh lives, and Arabs whose parents can afford to send them to America for vacation, all wanna compete for our pity with the black kid down the street who goes to school hungry, gets shot willy-nilly, whose father is in jail and whose mom is never around because she works three jobs to support her children.

The only difference is that black kid: who is too hungry to focus in class, too bartered to take anything for granted, too broke to leave his side of the city and move [side ways or upwards] – he is not sitting around writing books, doing Radio interviews, giving TedTalks on how abused, battered, and exhausted his young shoulders are to carry what America has been dumping on him [his father before him, four hundred years and counting!].

He is busy trying to see another day, in one piece!

We have a saying in my country: a child whose mother died, and a child whose mother went to the river cry the same.

It is fucking ridiculous.