If you’re wondering

why I have baby chickens on my blog, it’s because it’s mine and I can do whatever I want with it.

Or maybe that’s how I look like in real life. Who knows?

Anyway I hope you like the new layout. Actually I just changed the theme because the old one had really tiny text and I’m getting old so I need the words to be bigger (without requiring me to press extra buttons to enlarge it on my screen because I’m just that lazy). Also I wanted nothing to follow the title so noob readers would understand how the post title is actually part of the post etc. I know I’m patronizing my readers, but then again, it’s my blog so I can do whatever I want with it.

Okay I need to go back to work now. If I don’t come back in a week or so, you can help me tell the world I’ve killed myself out of coursework frustration.

All I want

in life is to be able to eat what I want, drink what I what, when I want and where I want, without having anyone make any stupid comments about my weight or my diet. If you hate me because I’m pretentious, arrogant, self-obsessed, self-righteous, proud, selfish, stubborn and inconsiderate, yes I am all of those things and more, and I’m trying to change. But please don’t make any comments about what goes in my mouth and comes out the other end. That is purely my life. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.

I was telling my parents the other day about how I want to move out as soon as I reach the financial capability to do so. Being conservative Chinese parents (I say this with no stereotyping, because under any measurement they are conservative Chinese parents) (I would list examples to support my point but I believe they would depress us both), they asked me why the hell I would want to do that. I told them calmly about how I just want the experience of being alone and to learn to be independent, and how I believe it is immoral for me to put myself in a life where I would move from my parents’ house to my husband’s house, first of all because I doubt anyone would want to marry me, which means I’ll live with my parents forever, something I’m definitely looking to avoid, and secondly because I would never feel secured in my life unless I have my own place to live. Now all of that is true but the most motivating factor is the amount of time people in my household make stupid comments about my diet and my weight. I am so annoyed at the “you’re too skinny” comments. Yes I’m not considered fat, but I’m not anorexic, I love food, I just don’t eat every single food there is in the world. I prefer beef to pork, but that doesn’t mean I’m weird; I don’t really like carrots but I still eat them. I love milk and cheese. I like every single kinds of fruit there is in the world, except for durian. I love carbs but I’m not eager on rice anymore because I’ve had rice almost every single day for nineteen years. I’m not a massive eater because I just am not. Even when I was a baby I ate less than most of the other babies. I wasn’t an anorexic baby, I just didn’t like being on the brink of puking. And I can’t help it that I don’t want to eat rice at every single dinner but my mother insists on me staying home for the meal, and we have, guess what, RICE, every single damned night without fail. It’ll break my mother’s heart, but I can’t stand being at home any more just because I feel like I’m being force fed every night, and there is enormous pressure in finishing my food even when I don’t want to, because if I say I don’t want to because I’m full, suddenly I’m anorexic.

There is indeed a broader significance in this rant. I think our perspective on “anorexic” girls who are “overly skinny” need to change. Popular culture may have made a lot of girls sacrifice their health and wellbeing in order to look like toothpicks, that is an indisputable fact. But popular culture has also made a point in saying we should learn to appreciate ourselves in our natural state, be it looks or figure. Now a lot of my friends and I are skinny but we don’t deliberately starve ourselves to be skinny. Some of us don’t eat a lot, but it doesn’t mean we starve ourselves, it just means we don’t feel compelled to have two plates of pastas every night. I must admit I skip a couple of meals here and there, but even when I eat every single one of those meals in massive amounts I’ll still have a under average BMI (an utterly American standard – and we know America is getting so obese it’s going to sink soon), I’ve tried that so I know. The terms “normal” and “natural” are not the same, and a person’s “natural state” may not mean it’s “normal” in the eyes of popular culture. I’d rather be comfortable living with a body which is not meaty, than to force myself to eat craploads in order to be what the world has set to be “normal”. If the world can appreciate oversized girls, most of whom I don’t think are healthy in the word’s rawest sense, the world can surely appreciate underweight girls, many of whom actually have a pretty balanced diet.

If you are a parent and you want your children to be able to appreciate themselves and not turn out to be a narcissist who rants about eating habits on the internet, stop making rude and disrespectful comments about them being skinny. There is nothing wrong with being skinny, if it is how their bodies are naturally like. In some cases, calling a skinny girl skinny (in a tone of disdain) is almost like calling a fat girl fat, and you know you should never, ever call a fat girl fat.

Because they will move out as soon as they can, and never talk to you ever again.

Running some

errands today I witnessed an interesting exchange around the supermarket which embodied The Concept Of Life.

A pair of kindergarten kids, an older brother and a cute sister in pigtails, walked out of the supermarket, each with a box of Kinder milk chocolate bars in their hands. Every box of Kinder milk chocolates has four bars in it. The sister started to eat one of the chocolate bars but carelessly dropped it onto the ground. She started to cry. While she was crying the brother reached into his box of chocolates, took one bar out and replaced the missing one in his sister’s box. Then he handed her another bar from his box of chocolates, which she gratefully took. When she was done with that, she opened the box again and realized that the box had been miraculously refilled, and excitedly told her brother about it. His brother pretended to be surprised and looked really excited about it as well. The sister then asked the brother why he wasn’t eating his chocolates, and he said he was saving them for later, but I knew he was saving them so he could refill his sister’s box.

Life is beautiful because it’s unfair.

Thank you for

making me. I love you Mr. Salinger, you crazy old man.

When life

is bland and tasteless, a close resemblance of a big mosh pit of void, of course it needs to get worse because your pride forces you to soldier on. And then in the morning when you’re on the cab to school, wrapped in a calm aura of your newly washed hair (which came with a high price of waking up at six in the goddamn morning), you look out the window and instead of the gray, gray and uh, gray sky you always see, today it’s stained with a daring shot of orange and red from the recent sunrise, and you can just see a bit of blue shying away, you suddenly don’t want to kill yourself anymore, and maybe, just maybe, today won’t be a let down.

Until your cab driver burps really loudly and you just go, you know what, yeah, life’s shit and it’s not going to change.

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