you fucking step on it & it returns a number.
what information that number, alone, provides:
what information that number, alone, does NOT provide:
& most importantly, it cannot decide if you are healthy or unhealthy.
what else that number needs to help it judge your health:
let’s say all these factors end up in optimal ranges. you are physically at a “healthy weight.”
what information your “healthy weight” provides:
what information your “healthy weight” does NOT provide:
SO LET’S ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH THE WEIGHT-FEAR & THE FAT-FEAR & THE DIET-FEAR BECAUSE IN ALL FUCKING HONESTY YOUR WEIGHT IS JUST A NUMBER, YOUR FAT IS A BODY PART JUST LIKE YOUR FUCKING VAGINA, & IF YOU’D RATHER DROP DEAD LATER THAN SOONER, YOU BEST BE ON A DIET & WATCH WHAT YOU PUT IN YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH.
the not-old-quite-yet-but-getting-there Korean mom, who genuinely means no offense, but whose every compliment sounds like a double-sided insult.
i thanked her. & silently sent my sympathies to her daughter. & mentally cursed the korean pop media for glamorizing plastic surgery. & internally laughed at the ridiculous notion that 1 nationality be the beauty standard for all east asian girls, when in reality, they be just as ugly as the rest of us.
then i sat down & enjoyed every bite of those carbs.
i love watching them from behind when they dance.
even if they don’t really know how, or have no sense of beat.
it’s the way their long hair
black hair
brown hair
shiny hair
layered hair
moves when the rest of their body sways.
a few strands might stick to them from the sweat, but everything else is still free to fly.
& you know they’re asian by the particular style of layering. you know what i mean.
i would feel jealous, if i wasn’t too busy trying to catch my breath.
you girls make me forget what song is playing. ♥
