Fat is Beautiful!

Fat Acceptance or Fat Liberation ?

When I decided to do fat liberation stuff for a mag it was mainly because there is so little out there for a "fat" person especially a "fat" woman. This is a very small attempt to fill a void that’s in the consciousness of most people, regardless of size, but especially of other fat people.

I see fat people divided from each other because they’re only allowed to accept parts of themselves, rather than the whole. Hell, they’re not even allowed most of the time to identify as “fat” unless they’re apologizing for it. Think about it, when was the last time you heard someone say “I’m fat” without it being followed by a tirade on how awful they thought their body was, how they were going to go on a diet to ‘fix’ that, or how it was an excuse for that laziness or gluttony that all fat people are supposed to be part of.

When was the last time you heard “fat” said, where it was devoid of a negative judgment, let alone a positive thing? I’d wager a guess that it’s been a while. You can’t even say “I’m fat” in a matter-of-fact sense, without people jumping in to defend you against your own description - “You’re not fat, you’re chubby/ pleasingly plump/ fluffy/etc.” the word fat has such deeply ingrained negative connotations that you can’t even describe your body without someone interpreting it as an insult. I find that insulting. That people buy into this belief that fat is the worst thing you could possibly be, and therefore, fat people can’t even acknowledge their size.

We can bring up anything about ourselves except our bodies... those we’re only allowed to talk about if we’re being self-deprecating. And it’s not like it’s something that no one notices even if you keep your mouth shut about it, it’s still there -- everyone still knows -- but it’s such a dirty word that fat people aren’t allowed to talk honestly about their bodies. That’s wrong.

It sucks to be so alienated from one’s own body, and to be divided from one’s physical self. I don’t ever want to hear a fat person apologize for not living up to “perfection.” And you don't have to put up with that shit anymore! I defy a single person on earth to tell me who has a ‘perfect body’ and what makes that body better than yours, or better than the fat girl who thinks the most surefire way to change her life for the better is to lose weight.

Biologically, thinness is certainly not considered anywhere near the perfect body. For bodies to function at peak performance, they have to have -- by today’s standards -- relatively high levels of body fat. And for most of the earth’s history, voluptuous and fat women were sought after as examples of great beauty and prosperity. If a woman was well-fed, it meant she was healthy and did well for herself. Fat was (is) beautiful! Where did we lose that?

June 26 is Anti-Drugs Day

Be wise, don't EVER do Drugs

Recently, a 15 year old I have known from she was a kid died of a Drug Overdose. Her last few months have bee nothing but spectacularly awful - fired from the school, arrested for theft, hospitalized at least some 4 times, multiple suicide attempts until she finally succeeded!

Drugs may take you high, literally until you are dead! I dont wish to be preachy but be wise, don't waste your life nor the ones around you! DON'T DO DRUGS!

Fasting During Ramadan

What a Typical Day during Ramadan Entails!

Picture yourself experiencing the humid heat of scorching summer without any chilled coolers to cool you off. Envision missing your daily breakfast, lunch and your favorite cup of coffee at 11 post noon daily for 30 full days. Imagine having to miss that fat five- star Sunday brunch that your friend has invited you for or envisage having to give up that free trip to Thailand. Imagine all these together and not lying, being good, honest to yourself and others around you and much, much more! Well, these are just some (and many) of the things Muslims around the world (including me) will be sacrificing the few weeks to observe the piously sacred month of Ramadan.

The ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar year, Ramadan or Ramzan, is acknowledged as the month of fasting - a period that signifies a time to be still, a time to become aware spiritually and a time to submit to complete subservience to Allah through personal sacrifice. It is also the month in which the Holy Quran was sent down (from the heavens) to Man.

I have often been asked whether it is hard to desist from eating and drinking for a whole month, especially in summer. I’m surprised when I always find myself replying “no” - for through being raised as a Muslim, fasting inescapably becomes embedded in one, a part of one’s being. For those who’ve come into Islam, fasting is undoubtedly a trying experience at first, I’m sure. Though, as soon as you realize what the health and religious benefits are, together with the feeling of being united with Muslims worldwide experiencing exactly the same, it makes for a rather awe-inspiring feeling.

The most captivating part of fasting during the month of Ramadan is the self-denial from food, drink and any sexual activity (both mental and physical) – especially to those who’ve never experienced a fast before. Here I see it fitting to add that the abstaining applies only from the break of dawn until sunset. No food or drink is to pass the lips; nose etc. meaning that taking a sneak dip in the pool is also a taboo! Smoking is prohibited as well.

It gets a bit more intricate and demanding… other senses are also under commitment to fast. The eyes (from wandering to that which is considered to interfere with your spiritual upliftment); ears (from gossip etc); tongue (from lying, backbiting etc); and other limbs should also, with the complete objective of pleasing the Almighty, be restrained if the faster wants his/her fast to be accepted. And I can hear you ask why?

The above mentioned is fundamentally two of the three vital elements required for a fast to be worthy of full acceptance. The third element is preventing the heart and mind from dwelling on anything other than the remembrance and praise of Allah.

And with these three aspects of one’s being combined, it makes for a rather perfect recipe for divine cleanliness and leaves the door wide open to a path that can lead to a higher spiritual plane and an awareness of others’ suffering… for the hunger pangs will certainly make you think back to that homeless person, that sick child, that frail old woman and the countless destitutes and poor orphans who cant even get a proper meal a day.

Fasting has always, across the religious spectrum, been an accepted way of cleansing the body (and strengthening the spirit). And with the health-conscious mindset reigning supreme in this age, it is fast gaining momentum.

A fast can easily last up to approximately 12-14 hours – starting at about four in the morning and ending at around 6.30 in the evening. The fast usually starts as early as three thirty in the morning when you have to wake-up and eat well ( but not gorge) to help you fast for the day. After performing the morning prayers at around five, it’s almost impractical to squeeze in any more sleep. Chances are I won’t hear the alarm if I try to sleep again…yet, I do fall asleep at around 7 and I arrive late to work at ten.

As the day carries on, the air-conditioned confines of my office becomes my shelter. Energy levels slip steadily, a wave of drowsiness constantly distracts and the stomach is rumbling. Personally, I find that minus the next meal on my mind, it is quite astounding how empty the brain feels. What else to think about if I don’t have to decide where to go to eat during my lunch hour and my energy levels are too low to go shopping. You really have no option then but to become conscious of why you’re fasting – which then leads to the kind of divine consciousness you are supposed to dwell on anyway. It’s all really a sanctified chain reaction.

The fast ends at sunset, preferably broken with a sip of fruit juice or water, and dates – a natural and copiously rich source of sugar – and the evening prayer, in the hope that the fast will be accepted. Tradition comes under analysis again… those deep-fried mutton samosas, chicken cutlets and fish fingers can’t possibly be healthy when one is aiming to purify the body but actually most Muslims end up feasting everyday – both during the morning pre-fast and post break sessions. The final prayer of the day is performed at around 8.30 in the night followed by the special prayer for Ramadan, which takes a bit more time and requires one to go to mosque and perform it with your fellow Muslim neighborhood.

This is in a nutshell is a typical day in the life of a working, fasting Muslim man or woman during Ramadan. For the archetypal Muslim housewife or women with children, and the extended circle as is quite common in Muslim families, the burden is actually tenfold. Yet, you’ll be astonished at their strength and their unvarying juggle between the no-nonsense and divine. Okay, I got to go now. It’s almost three o’ clock again!

Gyms, Weight Loss and Other Stories

Workout Diaries for Further Reading

The truth can sometimes be very cruel. Not only had my last business quarter been a fiscal nightmare, but I also managed, by some unkind twist of fate, to put on about seven heavy kilos. I had tyre marks permanently engraved into my stomach, and I could no longer do up my favorite jeans. Situation: very frantic.

I always wonder why this happens to me alone. I'm NOT a hedonist: I don’t drink, I don’t smoke (not even the odd one or two, honest), but I will admit, I am a narcoleptic insomniac- I hardly sleep, maybe four to five hours and I absolutely don't exercise. In fact, I hate exercising.

But I know I need to do something to offset (or at least balance) all the evil toxins and fats floating inside my body. So recently I joined a plush gym and went devotedly four times a week for one month. Then I got jaded and gave up.

Let's face it, any gym is tiresomely dull and expensive. You pound away on the treadmill / exercise bike like a hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere and being forced to watch VH1 into the bargain. Or you dislodge several bones hauling away at the weights machines, all under the supposedly clinical supervision of a expert trainer.

Or, in my case, you manage somehow to increase the size of your stomach muscles doing sit-ups. I really don't know what happened there, but it put me off the gym for life.

But I do want to get a flat stomach; I want to trim my tummy. And I'm aware that I possibly won't attain this if I carry on spending every evening down the pub or snacking out on my sofa.

It's time again for some drastic action. It's time to go back to the gym. Yeah, the torturous gym: hauling my ass off and submitting myself to workout hell!

Now, after battling for 20 minutes for car parking - it is the first Tuesday of July - I finally find a spot about half a kilometer away and begin my trudge towards the gym into the sliding entrance.

My sense of humor swiftly deteriorating, I push my way through the hordes of other harried over-eaters to the changing room. The guilt hangs thick in the air. One can cut the self-deprecating ambiance with a blade. No one looks in the mirrors, and the scale has never been so idle. Post-binge horror has set in!

Squeezing into my gym gear, which seemed so much looser just a few months ago, I mull over the task ahead. Half an hour on the step machine and, just to push myself into sado-masochistic overload, and a full bottle of Gatorade. Might as well go huge...or go home.

I climb aboard the Stairmaster, trying to disregard the almost licentious stares of the overweight, over-aged and probably under-sexed neanderthal next to me. This is the gym, not a bloody gay singles club! Aargh!

Stepping furiously, I punch in my details. Getting to the "weight" category, I absurdly hit 75, wondering if the stair machine knows I'm suffering from a solemn bolt of self-loathing and will "work me" extra hard.

After a mere five minutes I'm sweating up a storm, but still determined. After 15 minutes, I'm hanging onto the arms, struggling to inhale.

Twenty minutes. I start debating my sanity. Body has taken over, mind has shut down (probably a subconscious survival tactic to dry the pain) and the hirsute ogre next to me has become a blur. I decide to focus really hard on VH1. I don’t relish the BlackEyedPeas but Fergie really does have the most amazing colour eyes and also the most remarkable….never mind.

Five minutes to go. Reality escapes me and I set the machine to a higher level. Stepping hysterically, I can almost taste success! Almost there... and I'm sure I'm getting thinner by the second. I too can have a body like Van Damme!

Bingo. "Goal Attained" flashes in beautifully cheesy neon across the screen. I sink to the floor, breathing hard. The neanderthal has moved onto the bikes, and is staring at me oddly.

When my breathing returns to normal, I try to pinpoint the nearest water machine. Why do they always have to hide the bloody things?

I start feeling kinda pompous of myself. Not a bad start. I've survived the first blitz without going into cardiac arrest, my legs have quit trembling and, suddenly, the Gatorade doesn't seem necessary after all. Don't want to overdo it on the first day. Reality has returned!

Feeling slightly unsteady, but very contented, I manoeuvre through the crowds back to my parked car. The sun is still high in the sky, despite it being around six o'clock. My tummy already feels smaller but then it’s just a feeling, tomorrow will be another day.