Fatso. Part 1. Wee bit of me mind

Definition: fat = overweight or obese as per the official medical definition. The rest is my usual acidic idiocy.

               I’ve mentioned before what I do to lose weight and that it helps me reverse my diabetes. Here’s the thing, that one had nothing to do with the modified WHO sugar intake guideline (which you can find here: http://www.who.int/mediacentre/news/releases/2015/sugar-guideline/en/ ). It was rather a coincidence but a good one, regardless. Also I’ve made a new friend who thinks being fat is ok. Yea, sure.

               I know all about the cognitive dissonance. I was fat, my weight (max achieved, in 2008, but only because I weighed myself by accident, helluva scare that one) was about 230 pounds (115 kg) and I’ve never been below 200 pounds (100 kg) up until last year in the last 15-20 years. It wasn’t morbid obesity either, I think, I’m a wee bit taller than most people. So unless people saw me naked, they’d say I was almost right – a bit on the plump side, though. Ahem. Wisdom of the crowd is bullshit, when it comes to health.

               So yes, I’d say I’m more informed than most – I spent years trying to lose weight and I’ve tried almost everything except black magic and voodoo (even gasp! exercise, however short that may have been). So I know what’s it like to be fat and I don’t like it. I don’t like to see fat people, either. Why? No idea, I just don’t. Now quick, tell me what did you understand from that? Did you think I don’t like fat people as in their looks or their personality? Yea, think about it. So I had to (and still have to) resort to various brain-twisting dissonance-reducing ways of thinking, which by the way I think me buddy still uses. You want to lose weight? A wee bit o’ the creature… Irish whiskey is kosher and ecumenical, can be used instead of wine for the sacrament. Whatever. Just drink it till you forget what people teach you. So about my friend. Well hello there, John (translated, over here it’s like similar but different). He keeps trying to get me to eat “right”, I still refuse. I still think bread and potatoes aren’t a real meal, though that didn’t stop me gran from feeding me the stuff – god’s gift to the poor she always said. Fasting makes me bloody hungry, even now.

               What really bothers me is not people being fat, per se, but people glorifying fat. See, a http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fat_acceptance_movement kind of thing. I get it, fat people are on the receiving end of much abuse. Been there, done that. I don’t like fat people the way I don’t like Picasso paintings – I don’t like what they look like. I still think Picasso was a great painter, I just don’t like his paintings and I’m also quite aware others love them. So no, I have no trouble working with, befriending or talking to fat people. I just don’t want to see them in a bathing suit or one of those skin-tight pants or dresses. The same way I think about myself. You won’t be seeing me in a kilt, I tell you that. Unless you happen to like nightmares.

               Two paragraphs ago I’ve posed a simple question – when I said I don’t like to see fat people what did you think? Did you think I don’t like how they look? Or did you think I discriminate, period? Because if you’re in the latter group, I’ve got news for you.. It doesn’t matter what you weigh, or what you say (either in the mirror or in public). If the first thought you had when reading that sentence was somewhere along the lines to either be outraged about me hating (or not liking, to some is the same thing) fat people without thinking of their character/personality, or you just thought I’m a judgmental freak who is fat so I’m … insert stuff … then I’m sorry to say you’re exactly that you call me.

               My point is this – if you’re healthy and not morbidly obese, I don’t care about you, as in I might not like what you look like, but that’s only my taste – there are many who think the same way about me (well hello there, ladies). It’s not important. I don’t like how most men look like, either. I also don’t like what broccoli tastes like – which doesn’t mean others have no reason to like it and therefore people should be restricted from eating it – I’m not that stupid. Also, I rather think our media breeds idiots – you just look at the models on most catwalks and wonder if you hug one, how do you not get a punctured lung? I mean, just looking at some of those “beautiful” women makes me want to get my chain mail (or should buy one) and some bandages, I might poke a hole in my arm with those hips. But do you see the like of Monica Belluci on anymore? Yea, that’s my ideal feminine beauty, but about that… Nobody else but my wife should care what my ideal feminine beauty is, and even then, should not equate it to being healthy. This part should be taught in school: being popular does not equal healthy, the same way being beautiful, ugly or fat doesn’t equal healthy. Anything subjective does not equal healthy.

               As in everything I write about, I say only this – it’s a choice. You get to choose and it ain’t what you think. You get to choose if you’re one who thinks in extremes (boney, pointy, see-through thin or morbidly obese, religious vs atheist, black vs white) or one who doesn’t care much of unimportant bollocks. Beauty should never dictate healthy. The media only has power over you if you let it. Who watches fashion shows anyway? Education, folks. Educate yourself, educate your children – it’s needed. Media rather gives you only what most people ask for, and contrary to popular belief – fame isn’t about creating things anymore, it’s about controversy – class and common sense are passe, are so yesterday. Who’s The Beatles anyway? Bunch of hippies. No. Just no. We’re being taught how we look matters because it does. Now being different is the norm, so everybody’s different and that makes us so not unique. I really got a bunch of looks last time I had an interview, mainly because I’ve arrived dressed for a bank management position or something – suit, tie, pressed shirt, everything matched (thank god for the wife), stuff like that. Then I went to work for a year and a half in jeans and sport wear and nobody even blinked. Like that French joke:

During the first day of school in a Paris, a teacher reads out the catalogue:

Mahmoud ben Belkacem? Present.

Achmed El Cabul? Present.

Kadir Sel Ohlmi? Present.

Mohammed Endahrha? Present.

Lamiah ben Djelloun? Present.

Ala In Ben Oit? Silence. He asks again, Ala In Ben Oit? No one in class answers.

For the last time, says the teacher, Ala In Ben Oit? Suddenly a boy from the back of the class stands up and tells the teacher: It might be me, Sir, but I think my name is pronounced Alain Benoit.

               So how? If you think for yourself, you already know everything social is subjective. I don’t like sweet food and positively hate bitter food but you may love bitter food (wha? You animal..). Who’s right and who’s wrong? Nobody is right, individually. We both are. So why care about it? Unless you force me to eat bitter food on account you love it and everybody should eat it, it’s a non-issue. It’s importance is trivial, it’s zero. It’s the same way, for me, if you go around saying fat people have a right to dress what they like. Aye, they have – I also have the right to not like it. I’m not saying the way is to label and punish, to coerce and restrict – but instead to teach coexistence, to teach empathy and to teach the fact everybody’s got a right to have an opinion – however that opinion may be wrong and as such we might want to not be so vocal about our opinions. I’m lacking a word here, or an expression – here it is, it’s called common sense.

               Now all this was for nothing – I’ve not touched the main part. Preventing abuse against fat people is not the same as saying it’s ok to be fat. It’s not. There’s so much wrong there, it leads to vascular problems, to diabetes, to various dysfunctions, to cancer. We’re not designed to be fat (and I do mean that in a totally non-creationist way). If you’re healthy and plump, it’s not a problem. If you’re having blood pressure shoot up to 170/110 and your heart rate stay around 100 for most of the day without you moving a muscle, you got a problem and that problem ain’t me..

Advertisements

Well? Post a comment:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s