Fat

I’ve written about my struggles with weight before. They’ll never go away. Since engaging on social media, it has become glaringly apparent that every woman- and perhaps every person- struggles with body image. How could we not? The health and fitness and food industries make up multi-billion dollar sectors. Not to mention pharmaceuticals and healthcare.

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Photo by Elena Koycheva on Unsplash

So, I want to share a little bit about my struggles and comment on how widespread fatphobia and fat-shaming are. First- I am not “fat.” Of course there is no standard, but I live with what we might call “thin” privilege. I am not thin, but I can generally fit into a clothing size at most stores. I can afford healthy food like fresh vegetables, and even to bake for fun. Perhaps the biggest privilege I have is time- time to cook once or twice a week, time to work out. I used to work as a personal trainer, and learned how to “eat real food,” “burn fat through High Intensity Interval Training,” and in general “live a fulfilling and healthy life.” As if our bodies could determine how we feel about our worth- and they often do.

The time in my adult life when I weighed the least was during my first full time job as a college chaplain. I busied myself with work- staying long hours, working out early in the morning, making almost all of the food that I ate each day. Work was overwhelming. On most days I didn’t eat lunch until 4, and then I was full for dinner. Admittedly, it improved my confidence. My clothes fit. I didn’t worry as much about keeping my arms close to my body when someone took a picture so they wouldn’t look huge. But I never once said “this is enough. I feel content with my body.”

When I was 14, a doctor told me my throat was closing and not allowing me to swallow food because I was overweight. She even offered a medical explanation. It took five years to discover, after working to lose weight and still having issues with swallowing, that the problem stemmed from a soy allergy. But the humiliation remained- I was fat and I hated myself. A professor once told me doctors are the best salespeople- we trust them, even if their recommendations cost us thousands of dollars and life-long shame.

I started reading a new article  called “Everything You Know About Obesity is Wrong” by Michael Hobbes. The first parts, mainly describing the history of discrepancy between known health issues and policy change made me pause. Then I started bawling. It was the story about a mom who attends a kid’s birthday party every week and didn’t eat in front of the other moms or kids because she is fat that brought on the tears. She waits to clean up all the leftovers, takes them home, and when her kids go to bed, she finally eats. No one watching. She replaces an entire tub of ice cream so no one will know she ate the whole thing because she’s a “good fatty.” I’ve done that- I’ve hidden food, stashed it, and looked forward to it- my secret. And the next day, I workout twice as long to “burn off the sin,” promising that I will have more willpower, that I’d rather fit into my clothes than eat the cupcake, and somehow will feel better about my life if all of this goes to plan. It never does. I love to bake- I’m really good at it, and in my work where there are no “answers,” it feels great to make something the right way.

I know my experience is probably quite normal. Because fat-shaming is normal and we do not talk about it, except to complain to each other about our own weight and subsequently assure each other that we’re wrong. It is not acceptable to accept someone’s assessment of their own weight because the weight itself is not acceptable. Especially as women, we must continually strive to be less so we can have more.

“I am unlovable.” Have you ever, even subconsciously, thought or felt this? A particularly toxic consequence of fat-shaming is this notion that our weight and body determine who can care for us. Unfortunately, I have witnessed that people treat me differently even within a seven-pound spectrum. Largely, people who live with thin-privilege also live with access to a public legitimacy- no one questions their abilities, habits, lifestyle, or drive as a fat person would experience.

I don’t have an answer yet except to start talking openly with one another about “fatness” as a permanent identity, not one that we can change. Losing weight never changes the constant fear of a “lapse,” or going back to “who we were.” Body-positivity is great, but not enough to truly explore the constant shame that comes with “being fat.” And talking about this kind of identity without openly exploring how race, gender, ability, CLASS (!!!), nation of origin, mental health and other identities interact with the body as a marker will do no good. Size is an identity, one of many a person holds.

One helpful thing I do is try to recognize when I feel shame about my body because chances are, I can change my own behavior toward others if I am more aware. I’m going to keep baking because it’s something I love to do. Cupcakes anyone?

 

 

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We’re Good, Now.

I’ve been thinking about this question: Can I still wear/eat/drink/listen to/shop at/buy X if the designer/founder/store/musician/artist did/said something racist, sexist, ableist, homophobic? What about redemption?

PC: Jose Revuelta

The short answer is no. Don’t do it. If you have to ask…the answer is pretty clear.

The complicated answer is, everything is tied up in systems and structures of power that marginalize and oppress (ahem, capitalism). So we may very well be left with nothing to support, and everything to abandon.

That’s not an excuse. I’m not listening to Morrissey again, let alone pay to see a concert. Not that I ever did, or would. That’s just an example of a simple answer to the question.

Here is where I’m doing more deep thinking. Nike just put out an ad with Colin Kaepernick, featuring this tagline (parodies abound already): “Believe in something. Even if it means losing everything.” Fox News was offended, suggesting this is a great thing. Nike’s stock fell. But in the long term, is this good for business? Is this continuing the exploitation of athletes of color for the benefit of white corporate greed? That’s where my caution comes. I don’t mean to suggest this ad is only about making money…but I do, because it’s an advertisement! Supporting Kaepernick not only as an athlete but an activist and a person of color willing to sacrifice his work is a great thing. Supporting a corporation with a very abusive history is not. So just because Nike is “woke” now…

What about Nike’s history of horrific labor conditions- including using hazardous chemicals and child sweat shops? Do we ignore these atrocities in favor of supporting a movement?

In this questioning, two points guide my thinking. The first is, forgiveness is irrelevant and not something I feel empowered to offer, but sustained change can make a difference (not saying Nike specifically has changed for the better). According to more recent reports, Nike has attempted to change some of their unethical practices. Does this mean they’re off the hook? Absolutely not. Sharing the ad is important because it means taking up space where a racist or misogynist ad could be. It means I need to constantly question where I spend my resources and realize nothing is entirely pure.

Which leads to the other point. There is no room for complacency here. Questioning every purchase, every donation, even where I spend my time on a daily basis is crucial. It may seem extreme, but supporting a coffee shop that participates in and advances gentrification in a low-income, historic neighborhood is a choice that has an impact.

Supporting companies and people who do have a positive impact is important too, I believe. Recognizing that everything is inter-related, standing for something is important. Activism isn’t always about “losing everything,” it’s about putting our skills and talents to work to create change in every sector. If everything is about sacrifice, it can be difficult to find anything worth fighting for. Activism and movement-building are messy and often provoke questions without answers. I think the best strategy is to engage with the questions, listen, and work to change our own behavior in ways that benefit our communities. Dare I say, Just Do It.

Lying to Our Kids

When I was five, I got really sick.

I was stuck in bed for at least three weeks. It was awful- no school (which for me was terrible), no sports (even worse), no birthday parties, play dates, or batting practice. I’m not sure what kind of illness plagued me, but I do remember making everyone in my house miserable. And my mom felt bad, so she did something that might be frowned upon.

A week before I got sick, our local grocery store hosted a coloring contest. To enter, you had to take a booklet of coloring and activities home, complete all of it, and bring it back to the store. I remember a little box covered in yellow paper with a slot that perfectly fit the booklets. I spent so much time finishing that booklet, coloring in the lines, making sure all the puzzles were done correctly. When it was finished, my mom took it to the store and turned it in without much thought. I have never been the artist in the family. Then I got sick.

lamb chops

My mom decided I would feel better if I thought that I had won the contest. The theme was a 90s television show called “Lamb Chops Play-Along” that featured four sock puppets- a lamb, Lamb Chops, and his other animal friends. Remember that song, “This is the song that never ends…” I learned that on “Lamb Chops.” My mom bought four puppets just like the characters on the show, a new coloring book, a poster, and card that she signed with the main characters’ signatures. She told me I won the contest. I did feel better, excited about the recognition.

The next day, the store called to tell me that I had won the contest. They wanted me to meet the manager in her office so she could take a picture and give me my prizes. My mom had to make something up- “you won the grand prize!” Of course, I was ecstatic that there was another level of winning. That meant my work had been selected from a big pool, and then from another more elite pool of entries. And the prize was even better- more puppets, two posters, autographs from the cast, and even a gift certificate to the store. I did feel better, my mom’s plan had worked.

Years later, my mom told me what really happened. “I did it to myself,” she laughed. “You can’t lie to your kids.”

The reason I’m remembering this story at this time is because of the Golden State Sacred project. The mobile exhibit that depicts California’s religious and interreligious history. The exhibit depicts some communities that have been mostly unrecognized in California. It also tells histories that are uncomfortable. We have a hard time grappling with violence, oppression, internment, and surveillance. Dehumanization. But we have to face the histories that make us uncomfortable. The question is- what is “lying to our kids” in his scenario? Is there an appropriate age to talk about genocide? Rape? Considering a group of people sub-human because of their skin color or religion?

I don’t know how not to lie, because it seems as though sugarcoating these histories is worse than not sharing at all. Maybe the best goal is to simply spark questions and modes of thinking that encourage multiple narratives in one story.

This song, thankfully, ends.

Crazy Rich Representation

Saw Crazy Rich Asians. You need to. Go go go pay the money and go. Maybe eight times.

I’m not great at sitting through movies because sitting still is a challenge for me in general. I did not have a problem sitting through this film for a few reasons, not the least of which is, it’s a great movie! Sure, I do like romantic comedies sometimes. Many of them feel like something to flip on while I cook dinner or clean my shower. Not this romcom. The film itself is light and humorous in several places, which I found entertaining. The fashion tickled my fancy for sure. But the movie actually deals with a dense array of themes and issues that truly held my attention. I should say, the movie is based on a best-selling novel by Kevin Kwan- Kwan deserves the credit for this brilliance in intersecting themes.

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Photo by Fancycrave on Unsplash

Representation matters. Hollywood especially needs to heed this message a thousand times over. It matters that the cast of this film was not centered around white leads (or even supporting roles!) because so often, this centering creates a one-dimensional character that fills a stereotype or perhaps edgily fights against it, yet in the process of fighting still upholds that identity. It matters that the film actually focused on women character development more deeply than the men. It truly matters that this movie deals with class- albeit sometimes in a funny, glamorous way- because here in the United States, we don’t talk about class nearly enough. It also matters that this movie deals with fraught relationships and misogyny.

Without spoilers, intersectionality plays a big part in the conflicts between different characters.  Questions are left for us to answer- what is family, really, and how do we connect and support our own? How does the privilege of resource affect our bias? How can we live out feminism in different ways? The movie isn’t just important because it cast several Asian and Asian-American actors together- it is an essential commentary on how race, gender, class, language, culture, and sexuality define boundaries and sometimes clash within a single person’s identity.

I will not claim to find much commonality with most of the characters in the film because my context and privilege is different (also, I can look literally anywhere to see “me” represented in any field or sector). I spend much of my day immersed in questions of race, religion and class because my job is to interrogate how these concepts affect public life in the United States. One particular element did feel quite close to home. The film helped me begin to question how my family system affects my work in terms of what we “preserve,” what values we continue to uphold. Increasingly, my family and I clash in terms of what we value. My job is not to dismiss their traditions without engagement. Reflecting on the moments of change in our own values matter because we need to recognize the catalysts. Crazy Rich Asians matters because it is itself a catalyst in how Asian and Asian American identities are recognized as relatable but not one-dimensional. Final note- the soundtrack is amazing.

 

Golden State Sacred!

The day after something big feels a little eerie. “I’m definitely supposed to be somewhere, but I can’t remember where,” entered my mind several times this past Friday. The mobile exhibit that I spent the last year developing and growing has finally launched. On Thursday evening, we hosted a reception to reveal the objects, artifacts, photographs, and stories that only begin to touch on the sacred history of California. It felt great to welcome so many folx to an iconic Los Angeles space: the first synagogue in Los Angeles, the host to the Women’s Mosque of America, and a place of intersection for faith, art, music and community (Pico Union Project, shout out!).

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Sneak peak of GSS before the crowd

This week I’m cheating a little bit by posting the transcript of my opening remarks for the exhibit for a few reasons, not the least of which is, I didn’t get to writing a regular post last week. More importantly though, I believe in this project because the purpose is similar to this blog, which is to lift up stories of perseverance and commitment despite marginalization and oppression in the world. I am so thankful to everyone that came, ate, observed and interacted, asked questions, offered feedback, and met someone new.

Hey Friends. Thank you for coming out to Downtown LA on a warm August night during California’s inaugural Interfaith Awareness Week. It’s really wonderful to see so many familiar faces, and equally great to see new friends. I’d like to give you a brief picture of the vision for Golden State Sacred: A mobile exhibit dedicated to California’s sacred history. Before anything, I want to acknowledge and thank the Tataviam and San Gabrieleno tribes who are the original stewards of this land, and whose land we occupy here. A note about the food we are enjoying tonight- X’tiosu is a Oaxacan-Middle Eastern fusion restaurant in Boyle Heights, started by two brothers who migrated to California speaking no English or Spanish. X’tiosu means “thank you” in Zapotec, one of the many indigenous languages spoken in the Oaxacan region. Hello Cake Girl is a practically all vegan and gluten free bakery also located in Boyle Heights.

I love California. Though I have spent almost half of my life living outside the Golden State, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and believe me, it doesn’t get much better than living an hour from the beach, the mountains, sports matches, and the best of every cuisine you can imagine. So when Reverend Jim Burklo, whose office is full of fascinating artifacts, suggested how cool it would be to start an interfaith museum, I thought “sure, that would be cool.” When he mentioned that someone told him the concept was impossible, I knew we had to pursue it. Golden State Sacred is an un-museum, in a way. The objects you see here represent only a tiny amount of our history. Through this project, we hoped to raise awareness of the stories of sacred communities that often go unheard, or perhaps have been erased. These communities have all contributed to social, political, and public life here in alta California- through immigration, innovation, and interfaith cooperation.

The exhibit challenges two main ideas: first, that history is static and in the past, and second, what we usually mean by “religion.” Golden State Sacred is never finished- as we continue to collect stories and artifacts, the exhibit grows richer. The exhibit also takes on the presence of its location. For example, tonight we gather in the oldest synagogue in Los Angeles. As a true interfaith community center, this space hosted the first Women’s Mosque in America and consistently welcomes faith-based celebrations, art installations, music, and other community building activities. This space matters to our sacred history. We might not say that absolutely anything is religion, but what can we include when we consider ritual, community, commitment, divine images and names, culture, race, gender, and so many other intersections?

Some of this history should make us deeply uncomfortable. As you’ll see, religion is embedded in violence and oppression, from enslavement to internment to state-sanctioned surveillance. It is essential to engage with these truths, often ignored or avoided, because the pursuit of justice requires a deep understanding of past injustices contributing to current ones. Golden State Sacred is a balancing act- how do we engage with our own communities in ways that promote interfaith cooperation by both celebrating those before us and recognizing the wrongs committed?

Finally, and most important, some notes of gratitude. To the Interfaith Youth Core, the Germanacos family, the Stanford Office for Community Engagement, and the most beloved USC Office of Religious Life, thank you for both resource and moral support. I offer the most profound gratitude to the individuals and communities who shared their time, their stories, and their objects with us. Thank you to my family for dealing with a mess of objects and book stands and tablecloths and glitter in the living room. Many folks in this room offered their wisdom, including obscure sports chants like “Och Tamale” from the University of Redlands. Finally, though I do not mean to single anyone out, there is someone who has been with this project since its unique inception- this person designed the logo on all the materials, worked to make the exhibit aesthetically pleasing, and most of all spent many late nights talking through everything from social media to color schemes to sharing a mutual love for Jackie Robinson. Jose, thank you for never giving up.

Blowup

The title of this post comes from a conversation I was having with a friend about taking care of infants. Y’all who know, know what we were talking about and I’m just going to leave it at that. So this past weekend and mainly this morning, I had an experience to which many of us can relate. I don’t want to use specific words for it because there is no one title for it, so I’ll call it “coming up.” Stuff came up for me. Like, a bunch of stuff.

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Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

The first thing that happened was a real impulse to cry. I fed that impulse. Mascara was everywhere, and then makeup, and then other stuff. You know that phrase “ugly cry?” Imagine the ugliest. Then my body started to hurt, like after a really tough workout. My neck and shoulder muscles especially just ached. It was as if they were holding in all these unexamined emotions right there, right in the fibers. The knots began to stiffen, and then suddenly release. An outpouring. I curled into bed, clutching a pillow and waiting. While I waited to calm down, I tried to observe the thoughts that scrolled through, the visions that caused these feelings- feelings of worthlessness, being small, being unlovable and irrelevant and a failure, feelings of living in a body that holds guilt and shame inside of it- flashed over and over. It was a blowup. Except instead of a diaper to clean up, it was the thoughts. Slowly and carefully, I imagined a mop gently wiping the inside of my forehead. It felt soothing.

What is this blowup thing, and where did it come from? Different folx have different answers. Sometimes it’s a place. A smell, a noise. Sometimes a person. Sometimes a memory that appears out of nowhere. Sometimes there is no explanation. If I try to pin down the origin of this time, I’d say it has something to do with returning to writing my own story. Sometimes knowing is helpful, and other times I think it’s really about processing. Because I am writing, I wanted to lean into what was happening. I drew a thought bubble chart that helped me parse some of what’s happening. Stress about the exhibit opening. Fear of failure. Rage about injustice. Trauma in my body. I circled body because I continue to struggle with the healing process. And I started writing, and crying, and listening to the first sermon ever preached at the Women’s Mosque of America in my home city. Edina Lekovic, the Director of Policy and Programming for the Muslim Public Affairs Council, gave a call to action. “We must build upon this beautiful truth,” she said. “The truth that we now have a Women’s Mosque, and our daughters will say ‘of course we do’ when they grow up. We are inclusive, not exclusive. We are open, not closed***.”

I want to help build these beautiful truths for which women continue to lay the foundation. I am glad everything “came up,” because like a foundation the pain sits and stirs once in a while. Upon this foundation, we can build not walls but windows into beauty, and greatness, and love.

You can check out this amazing sermon here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4g26wK-VYV0

Gold’s Food

Jonathan Gold, iconic Los Angeles food writer, passed away on Saturday. Just as I heard the news, I was shoving a donut in my face and enjoying local art in pleasant summer evening air.

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LA-inspired cupcakes: jamaica-lime, brown butter peach, michelada

I felt particularly sad about Gold dying. It’s not as if I knew him personally, or even saw him often on television. I did pour through his books and reviews of restaurants. When the food truck craze hit, I appreciated that Gold encouraged eaters to frequent the trucks started and owned by immigrants and children of immigrants. He challenged the whole notion of “exotic” food, suggesting instead that Los Angeles is home to traditions and cultures that often center around food. Instead of writing “critically,” Gold pointed us to the “unknown” eateries around the city that make me homesick when I’m away for too long.

As I have been researching and interviewing for the mobile exhibit project Golden State Sacred (you can follow @goldenstatesacred on Instagram, shameless plug), my goal remains the same even as the design of the exhibit shifts. Los Angeles is a global city of untold stories. My hope was to begin collecting these stories and stewarding them through the objects on display. So far, I have been so lucky to meet people gracious enough to share their stories with me, even beyond their faith. What is amazing to me is how everyone makes a way here, somehow.

We have much work to do. The cost of living in California is beyond atrocious. Despite what seems like a new luxury apartment building going up every day in the greater Los Angeles area, affordable housing is dire. As a surgical resident, my sister saw her fair share of addiction and substance abuse. While these should not be political bargaining chips and have been used as such in the past, we cannot deny that people suffer. We cannot deny that California is as much a police state as every other, and people of color experience racism and different kinds of violence every day. This state is soaked with the blood of California Indians who worked through forced labor to build the now prized missions. It is stained with the chain link fences that caged American citizens. It is responsible for the murder of unarmed black bodies and the exclusion of human beings based on alleged legal documentation.

The stories that I have collected- as Gold collected through food and dining- give me reason to confront the violence and erasure that religion has caused on this stolen land. Saturday was a day of mourning for the children who have been separated- it was, at the same time, a celebration of young people that organized and led the action in downtown Los Angeles. I hope to keep the stories alive because they deserve honor and remembrance in the years to come. Just as Gold left glamour and ritz to the other food critics, I want to make myself uncomfortable enough to keep learning every day.