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Archive for March, 2013

When my great grandma died. It changed my perspective on death.  At 92, she died with the Alzheimer’s disease. To me, then and there death wasn’t scary or even a pathway to another life anymore. It was what it was, an end. When we take a kid’s life or when a person dies it is not like they travel to another space. I don’t know. I felt like we can only love people while they are around and here, the concepts of heaven and hell or reincarnations are just to calm ourselves with the hope that  in death we shall be united. We were united in life, and that is all.

She lived with my parents. I was studying abroad. I wasn’t near her when she died. With my finals dancing on my head, my father had withheld the news of her death until after I was done with my finals. Frankly, it wouldn’t have made much difference.

I had already lost her to Alzheimer’s, and it might sound crude, but I was happy that she finally died. I still remember the moist kiss on my forehead she ran out of her room to give me, while i was leaving for college that august, at that moment I knew that was our last physical touch ever. I didn’t tell my father as I knew it would upset him, but I knew that was it. My great grandma was a wonderful women up until she was 85. She loved foreign food, would try anything new, she loved different kinds of oils, she loved massages, she was the only woman I knew who had such great skin even at that age. She loved to travel, she was a social butterfly, she was invited everywhere, the woman was very popular anywhere she went. But by the time she got to her late 80’s none of it was there.

She was a very different woman, she had lost her memory and herself, at times she wouldn’t even remember her own grandson or know her children’s name. Then it got so worse, that she started to think that she was being forced to live with strangers, and every night she would lock herself in her room and count all her money.  At times my mother was the only known relative to her. But just when you think the madness of calling your own family names, or refusing to recognize them is the rockbottom, it hits even low. She started to forget to wear clothes, rushing towards the gates in complete madness and nudity. She started to think that the various artifacts in our house were making faces at her, and that the people in the TV really lived in the TV.  She started showing signs of dementia too. It was a scary sight. I vividly remember one day I came back from school to find her hanging out by the gates waiting on me. She called me by a name only my family calls me. I was glass eyed. I had lost her to alzheimer’s when I was 13, I didn’t quiet understood the disease, at first none of us did. My parents were the only ones who got it. That day she was back.

I ran into the house and found my mother, told her she was back!

My mother smiled, and said she has been back since the morning. I let my great grandma scold me for talking too loudly or talking too much that day, I let her tell me that as a young woman from a good family I should wear clothes that cover my ass. I let her pick on me and my overly opinionated self. We all let her do her thing, my mother let her cook, my father came home and got babied by him and so did my brother. My sister cuddled with her. Because we knew it could all go away.

And it did, within the 16 hours I had found her back, she was gone again, yet her physical body was there.

Alzheimer is painful.

 

support: alz.org

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We’re far from home, it’s for the better
What we dream, it’s all that matters
We’re on our way, united

-⚫⚫⚫

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Swedish House Mafia said goodbye, I need some time to get this

this is a dark day in music, I cannot believe it I will need some time to wrap my head around it.
But it really is a good bye.. Read the full story here: http://www.billboard.com/biz/articles/backbeat/1554327/backbeat-swedish-house-mafias-steve-angello-kicks-off-brand

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“you just can’t divorce yourself from the way you grew up”

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women come in all shapes and sizes

women come in all shapes and sizes

My best friend in college used to hate thin skinny girls, she was athletic. A track runner since her early childhood, yet still not stick thin. Not skinny, by the standards professed in the modern media. I remember while I could only sprint, she would run for an hour on a treadmill everyday. That didn’t get her skinny. That made her sweat, and she loved it. I could see her smiling face by the end of the workout, I knew what running meant to her. She was my inspiration.

I was, always proportionate. When I caught on the chubb, I was simply called cute or thick here in America. After my first real breakup I gained weight, but being around her, I lost it fast too. I soon discovered that the best revenge on an ex is getting hotter, not the other way round. I lost all my freshmen year, post breakup weight one summer. I have always had a good relationship with my body, she had a love hate relationship. She would stand infront of the mirror with her shirt pulled up and scrutinize her tummy. No she didn’t want six packs, she wanted ribs to stick out while standing.

Yuck! How did we ever let that get attractive? Ribs or no ribs, size 8 or size 0 I always thought she was beautiful. And I loved her. I loved her when she would run everyday for an hour and I would walk into the gym to find her running, and I also love her now that she has replaced her working out habits with smoking 8 ciggs a day and starving herself to keep skinny. There was a point in college, we both did it. We got soo skinny, it was hard for me to recognize the person who was starring back at me in the bathroom mirror. My boobs became smaller, my butt shrunk. I was not happy. People thought I was doing great, I and her we used to smoke all day, drink coffee and eat just once at noon, snack on reduced fat peanut butter the whole day. It was madness! We could no longer workout, because duh you need energy for that. Food is fuel and we were not fueling our bodies. Our cheeks sunk in, and our mothers got worried. I was irritated all the way, agitated and anxious with the overdose of caffeine and nicotine. Plus my shrinking boobs did not sit well with me.

Fuck size 0/2 I needed to be a size 4-6 again. Maybe between me and her when we called the M on the clothes “monsterous” did not matter much to me anymore. I wanted to get back in Mediums. I did not know that hollow cheeked girl who starred back at me. Her ribs were sticking out. Frankly I resonated more with the before slightly chubby chick. She used to love to read, this one was too tired to even read. That one was calm and composed, this one was always irritated because she wouldn’t eat.
I had to find an in-between road. And I did.

I started hanging out with people who had a more positive body image. Because I did too, once upon a time. I couldn’t be entering my senior year as a woman and acting like a girl. I couldn’t be part of that madness. I was never naturally skinny, and I will always be fine with that. I was the granddaughter with the “blessed assets” as my grandma liked to call me proudly, for I took after her.

My friend still continues to smoke, I started smoking again but I had to quit. It was not worth it. I don’t look down on people who smoke, but smoking to curb your appetite is like a double edged sword. Trust me, I have been there.

I recently stumbled on The Nu Project by Matt Blum, brave women from North and South America have posed naked, un-photoshoped and unfiltered for this project. I do not advocate for obesity or being overweight to the point where you have health risks.

But I understand this. I am a human, and my body changes, a man or a woman our body ages and I embrace these changes. Food is my fuel. I like to fit well in my clothes, but on days when I am bloated and I have sex inside the covers or I cancel a date. I want myself to remember these women in the Nu Project, because they are truly amazing. I wish when I was going thru high school, projects like these happened for they would have professed a healthy body image, or an acceptance of our own bodies. For I wouldn’t have filled journals on journals meticulously tracking my weight and food consumption.

But its never late.
Thankyou Matt Blum

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It’s not about having what you want, but wanting what you have.

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