“Love is a minefield. You take a step and get blown to pieces, put yourself back together again and stupidly take another step. I guess that’s human nature. It hurts so much to be alone that we’d all rather blow up than be single.”—Kate Welles, Love & Sex (via quote-book)
So I’m sure a lot of you ladies out there have heard of “thin-spiration”… which is when girls that are trying to lose weight or diet cut out pictures of thin celebrities to motivate them to keep up the routine or whatever. I personally never really understood this concept. To me, it only intensifies the already crazy media ideals that lead many girls (and boys) to eating disorders. This is why I’ve put together a collage of some celebrities whose bodies really celebrate the idea of ‘keeping it real’. lol. These women remind me that my curviness is an ASSETT. And if I’m treating my body right, that’s really what matters. :)
My sister Tori spent the night last night, and I found something I wrote for class that reminded me why I appreciate her unconditional love so much! <3
My Sister and I
My sister Tori and I have always been pretty close. She’s almost seven years my junior, which always seemed to be the perfect interval of ages; We were close enough for witty interplay over our family dinner table, but far enough apart so I could still use her innocence and naïveté to my advantage. When I was younger, I enjoyed having someone to order around. She was always at-the-ready, waiting to bring me anything I desired at the snap of my chubby, adolescent fingers. And as much as I might have abused her affectionate nature, the organic, sisterly love she felt toward me was always palpable. From the time she could draw a stick figure, she would create personal portraits of me—all in neon colors of course—and on her canvas I would become a rock star. It was as if she knew the desires of my heart and realized them on her sketchbook before I could truly follow them in life. When I started to sing in choirs, I began showing up on Tori’s paper with a sparkling microphone in my hand and a giant crayoned smile on my face. Late at night she would creep into my rose-colored bedroom and ask to jump into my bed where we would proceed with some sort of massive tea party under the covers. Back then, I soaked up all the attention and chalked it up to my own greatness. I mean, why else would Tori continually shower me with attention if not for my own impressive talents!
A few years later, I got my driver’s license and suddenly I wasn’t obligated to spend time with my sister. Our shared bathroom was the only territory in which we seemed to cross paths. Tori caught glimpses of me in our bathroom mirror as I washed my face after long evenings out with friends. There were six or eight round bulbs above that mirror that illuminated my imperfections so clearly that I often avoided meeting my own eyes in the reflection, let alone hers. She would wait on the white floral couch by our front door when I started working night shifts at the mall just so I couldn’t avoid greeting her before conking out for the night. Her pleas for bedtime tea parties were rejected. My social life fatigued me. I had no energy for imaginative games. Those were the kind of excuses I gave her. Sometimes, after one of these rejections, a piece of construction paper would appear underneath the door to my room. Tori would have drawn me, as beautiful as ever, with bold strokes of Crayola. I would envy the girl in the picture. If only I could carry on as she does… this paper version of me. I would be a social butterfly, a kickass big sister, and a world famous musician all at once. But instead of opening the door and embracing Tori to show my appreciation for her gift, pride would keep me in my room for the rest of the night, leaving Tori to tear up outside my door. I think of how often I saw those long brown eyelashes thicken with tears only because I was too busy for her, when only a hug would have meant the world.
I recently left for college. My last night in town was spent at a girlfriend’s house: Someone I might, or might not, keep in touch with over the years. My sister spent that night in my bed. When I got home and my mom told me this in a concerned voice, I thought of Tori under my green plaid comforter… dreams of sisterly tea parties in her head. I couldn’t believe I had forgone time with my oldest friend so many times for so many dumb reasons. When I departed for college, I kissed my sister like I had missed her for years. And, in a way, I did.
In my dorm room at an amazing music school, I think about my path to becoming the improving musician I am today. Sitting at my desk I notice the visible fragments of inspiration from my life before college. A mother-daughter necklace given to me at graduation hangs over the edge of the wooden hutch and a small glass owl from my granny’s house stands guard at the back right corner. My eyes catch the bluish gleam of a picture frame set up on the left side. Two pictures are in the frame: one of Tori and I at the respective ages of two and eight, and another taken right before I left for college. The images vary greatly in the poses we assume, the closeness of our faces to the lenses, and our facial expressions… but then I take another look. Tori’s blue eyes, the one physical trait we unmistakably share, seem to peer at me through the paper with a softness I thought only accompanied her physical presence. These blue eyes, shaded by those enviable thick brown lashes, give me great comfort. In this moment, I realize I am where I’m meant to be. I now believe this fully, because I know she believes it too.
**DISCLAIMER: THIS LITTLE JOURNAL ENTRY IS VERY RANDOM, HORRIBLY COMPILED, AND IS IN NO WAY INTENDED TO OFFEND. HAVE A NICE DAY!**
Many people close to me have had a lot of questions over the past seven months since I’ve drastically changed my diet. And by ‘diet’, I am referring to my habitual nourishment patterns, not ‘diet’ as in a fad to lose weight. Most of the questions are out of curiosity, some have been out of worry, and a few have been downright indignant as to why I’ve chosen to give up something so “natural to man”. I often feel on the defense with my decision because others think they have the right to judge me outright without knowing much about nutrition themselves. The truth is most Americans are actually ignorant to the majority of what they put in their mouths. I was too, but I decided I really wanted to do something about it. Although I am a “vegetarian” — meaning I don’t eat animal flesh (no, not fish either), but I do consume cheese and eggs on occasion – I don’t consider “vegetarian” the definition of my diet. I like to call it a “plant-based” diet because this distinguishes the “tofurky” and “soy-burger” based diet from mine, which is focused heavily on raw vegetables and fresh fruit in their natural states.
When I was about eight or nine, I decided I didn’t want to eat my cute and fluffy friends any more. That ended abruptly when my parents brought home KFC for dinner and I succumbed to the crispy-ness. Since then though, I’ve developed a strong interest for nutrition and health— which brought me back to the same choice.My decision to go veg was backed up by a lot of research on my part. This was NOT a whim. My diet overhaul really got underway when I read a book called “Eat to Live” by Dr. Joel Furhman. If you have the chance to read this book, please do! Heck, call me and I’ll lend it to you! Haha… although his research and advice can lead to great weight loss, his focus is on the prevention of disease in the future. I think it’s important for our generation to realize that if we are intent on changing our fate (being the first generation with a shorter life expectancy than our parents) we must be mindful of what we’re consuming. Like Fuhrman states in his book, “It is not merely the high consumption of animal foods such as dairy, meat, chicken and fish that leads to premature death in America. These factors are important, but most crucial is what we are missing in our diets by not eating enough produce.” Did you know that today, less than 5% of American’s calories are coming from fruit and veggies (excluding the potato)? I don’t know about you, but even when I was clueless about healthy eating, that fact disturbed me. As I read Dr. Fuhrman’s book, as well as “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan and “You Don’t Need Meat” by Peter Cox (an EXCELLENT book backed by loads of historical research, for those of you who are meat-eaters and need some kind of concrete information about the vegetarian diet in order to understand why people might choose such a path), I began to form MY OWN ideas about what foods would contribute to my wellbeing. The most important thing I’d like to convey with writing this little rant is that no matter what choices you make about what you eat, it’s important to feel confident that you are making the best decisions for yourself. The problem with fast food isn’t that one burger will give you heart disease… that’s ridiculous. It’s that the drive-thru has become so commonplace that people don’t even bother thinking about how the compounding of that food over time could affect their bodies. I just want people to question. Say hey! What’s in this double-smothered quarter-pounder? Where’d it come from? Was the cow injected with growth hormones? Was the cow raped by the contraption known as the “rape rack” to produce little burger offspring? So if you have a question for me, ask away! I won’t get on the defensive; there’s too much at steak (oops, I mean stake. :P].
“I think of the days we were gods and goddesses, playing ball with planets. We were larger than dinosaurs. But now we sit like good girls and boys and watch the small tennis ball going left and right, forgetting the days when we used to play with bigger balls. What happens when we shrink even further, and become the size of cockroaches? Will we still be playing with something that echoes the time when we were larger?”—Yoko Ono
I have a fear that I am going to fall in love with the “perfect” guy, have the white picket fence, 2.5 children… and wake up one day to realize I made a terrible mistake. The man I’ve lived with for 25 years is a work-a-holic who has never asked me how I’m feeling or tried to get to the heart of any matter. My life has passed by and consisted of mundane household chores, routine habits, and the overall suppression of my true identity. The reason why I can elaborate so colorfully on my fear is because this is my mom’s story.
How can I trust I will not make her mistakes? I am a hopeless romantic with a free spirit. I am quick to fall- quicker to stay down. Will I step into her shoes without even knowing?
No. I refuse. Instead I become a hard shell- impenetrable by the kindest of people. Loneliness may be my theme but at least my loneliness is self-willed. At least it will not be preceeded by rejection. Or worst- false acceptance.
And so I go into the big world without a partner; no companion. I smile as I walk, but I make sure my smile isn’t so friendly so as to beckon another into my heart.
Will I lose out on love, on trust, on such a crucial component of life? Maybe.
Her body is severe Not containing the gentle slope of a woman’s hip, but made up of pointed corners that boys stub their toes on
The jut of her jaw suggests a more masculine tone and boys see in her, themselves- and mistake the likeness for sexual attraction… What a vain species.
After they leave, does her furniture fold itself back up? Or does she lay sprawled across her bed with her disjointed limbs bruised in the dark?
I am usually reds and blues and metallic and strong but she is a blinding light and I dim my colors for her.
My body is a group of hills that echo when spoken to My body is camouflage; full of nuances you have to squint to see. a flag of neutral colors blending into her sharp edges, Softening her brightness.
She shows a contrived weakness that attracts attention; My muscles flex in an effort to protect myself from exposing my vulnerable beauty. Contrived weakness has always been more appealing to a passerby… so I keep my tears to myself. She guarantees my eventual apathy by parading her enthusiasm …surely to contrast with my normally mellow state!
I ache with questions. Will they ever notice ME, without her in the context? Or am I her backdrop, lying down like a welcome mat into her life? It is possible for two girls to shine equally, unabashedly, in pure happiness?
If I were to close my eyes, I might feel free from the toxic nature of a false friendship. If I were to close my eyes, I might forget the inevitable extinction of myself… and I’d believe her to be a nightmare I can easily escape.
…but if I were to close my eyes, I’m afraid I might dissolve.