“Grief is not linear. People kept telling me that once this happened or that passed, everything would be better. Some people gave me one year to grieve. They saw grief as a straight line, with a beginning, middle, and end. But it is not linear. It is disjointed. One day you are acting almost like a normal person. You maybe even manage to take a shower. Your clothes match. You think the autumn leaves look pretty, or enjoy the sound of snow crunching under your feet. Then a song, a glimpse of something, or maybe even nothing sends you back into the hole of grief. It is not one step forward, two steps back. It is a jumble. It is hours that are all right, and weeks that aren’t. Or it is good days and bad days. Or it is the weight of sadness making you look different to others and nothing helps.”—Ann Hood, Comfort; A Journey Through Grief (via theprimroseproject)fr
hollywood:here are some films of white people with varying hair types and colors
white people:JESUS CHRIST SO MUCH DIVERSITY!!!11
hollywood:jake gyllenhaal in a tan as a persian
hollywood:long haired rugged tom cruise as the last samurai
hollywood:airbender but with whites
hollywood:khan doesn't even sound white but fuck it lol
hollywood:white history year
white people:what a time to be alive!!
poc:is it cool if you guys started including us in movies and stories that don't misrepresent or erase us for a change? your obsession with white skin is getting out of hand..
white people:UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM?????////? HELL O? I N A C C U R A TE. POC DIDN'T EXIST IN THE PAST PRESENT OR FUTURE DUH. MAYBE MAKE UR OWN, STUPID SJW!
This is an absolutely spectacular piece on food snobbery and intersections with disability, fatness, and class.
Oh thank dog for this article. This article is perfect.
Let me excerpt a couple favorite bits that sort of encapsulate my feeling on this subject.
As Michelle Allison explains, “The problem is that I’ve met very few people who make personal choices of the “real food” persuasion without also pressuring those around them… without also proclaiming that the foods most people rely on to survive are inherently inferior… without also implying that the reason the rest of us are fat, or poor, or don’t have shiny hair, or don’t walk around perpetually bathed in magical sunbeams of happiness, is entirely because we eat the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad food — the food that is not Real”.
Yes. It is not that I have any problem with people choosing to be vegan, or eating raw, or eating like cavemen. It’s this part. This part is not okay.
A woman on Twitter recently accused me “subsidising capitalism” when I expressed dismay at having to go to a supermarket because my local vegetarian co-operative is inaccessible. I asked her what I should do instead and she said I should campaign for accessible local shops. And in the meantime, what? I don’t eat?
It is this kind of unwillingness to look at the bigger picture that leads many people to feel that ‘good’, ‘real’ or ‘clean’ food campaigns are elitist and exclusive. Whether looking at food shops or places to eat out, it is a sad truth that many of the least physically-accessible locations are those that are independent and “ethical”, while the multi-nationals we all love to hate are the ones with level access, wide open aisles, priority parking spaces and accessible toilets. Non-disabled allies need to join disabled activists in proactively challenging the idea that a business can be considered to be ethical if it does not allow disabled customers to use it.
and the idea that any one diet is appropriate for everybody is simply not true:
The reality is, even foods we tend to recognize as universally wholesome and healthy are not actually appropriate for everyone. Bodies differ and circumstances also differ. For example, our universally beloved super food, dark leafy greens, are considered a food to avoid (along with a bunch of other “healthy” foods like whole grains, legumes, and many fruits and vegetables) for people with kidney disease who require a low potassium diet.
Eating more sodium instead of less sodium can actually be a critical thing for people who experience hypotension — when I was working in the hospital, we actually had to stop purchasing a popular brand of bouillon for this purpose when they lowered the sodium in their product in an attempt to provide a healthier option to consumers. Well, it wasn’t healthier for our patients on tube feeds, some of whom required a sodium boost between feedings — in fact it was quite dangerous
her conclusion is basically perfect:
It is evident that the problem with “unhealthy” food is inherently structural within a discriminatory society. It is not a coincidence that so many more poor people, disabled people, and people of colour eat less balanced diets with more packaged food and less fresh produce, and it is not that these people are all careless and feckless and don’t care what they put in their bodies. This is a wider issue of structural inequality that cannot be addressed on an individual level. It is not just a matter of “personal responsibility”.
Food snobbery, whether it manifests in lecturing, chiding, self-importance or dismissive comments, ignores the entirety of those circumstances to focus on one single thing: you should not be eating that.
We need to look seriously at how messages from food evangelists, piled on top of all the other crap we are told about what we eat on an ongoing basis, are affecting the what we consume and how we judge other people.
what bothers me the most when people ask if you hate white people is that they read a bunch of posts about poc talking about their oppression but the only thing they thought of was "why does this person not like white people"
22-year-old Fatu Kekula nursed her entire family through Ebola. Her father. Her mother. Her sister. Her cousin. Fatu took care of them all, single-handedly feeding them, cleaning them and giving them medications.
And she did so with remarkable success. Three out of her four patients survived. That’s a 25% death rate — considerably better than the estimated Ebola death rate of 70%.
Fatu stayed healthy, which is noteworthy considering that more than 300 health care workers have become infected with Ebola, and she didn’t even have personal protection equipment — those white space suits and goggles used in Ebola treatment units.
Instead Fatu, who’s in her final year of nursing school, invented her own equipment. International aid workers heard about Fatu’s “trash bag method” and are now teaching it to other West Africans who can’t get into hospitals and don’t have protective gear of their own
DUDE. SHE MANAGED TO GET A FUCKING 75% SURVIVAL RATE OUT OF A DISEASE WITH A 70% DEATH RATE.
"invented her own equipment" This Fatu Kekula is clearly an innovative genius and a hero.
I write like nobody will see my blog. I tell my story like nobody will ever read it. That’s the best way for me to express the emotions and feelings that I keep jarred up. I want to tell my story, and the day to day stuff, as raw as possible. I think the truth is so distorted and entangled with the reality of things that my family ( both of them) will be in totally shocked if they were to read my blog. My mom knows I am a writer and that I write as honestly as possible. She would probably believe my writing before she believes what comes out of my mouth. I think I write like that because my feelings where never validated. I felt like I always had to be happy. I felt like I wasn’t allow to cry over the inner turmoil I struggled with. I am pretty sure that’s what lead to my self harming. I would dig my nails into my skin and hit myself ( on my thighs) when I got angry. I was angry a lot. I would hurt myself before I let myself hurt anybody else. You are allowed to cry when people can see your cuts and bruises but being bruised on the inside and not being able to say help me is not an easy thing to deal with. Writing became my positive coping mechanism. It saved my life.
“She must find a boat and sail in it. No guarantee of shore. Only a conviction that what she wanted could exist, if she dared to find it.”—Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit (via sharkradish)
Seeing pictures or videos of myself as a baby has always been rather disturbing. The agency that I was adopted through after foster care recorded the moment when I was given to my adoptive parents, and I’ve seen the footage multiple times. (I was actually used as the poster child for the agency for a while; not sure how I feel about that.) When I look at that baby, it doesn’t feel like me.
It’s almost like I think of my infant self as a different person.
being the adopted child of an adoptee is weird af like i have my own identity issues to deal with, but then i have my mother’s bio and adopted family history to try to sort through and basically adoptee life is just one big clusterfuck of misinformation
This post resonates with me so much. My father was also an orphan, adopted domestically. He passed away a few days ago, and now that he’s gone it feels like the chance to know so much family history and heritage is lost, even more than before. I’m still in shock.
It’s hard finding other adoptees, much less adoptees of adoptees. I don’t know you and this is a difficult introduction to say the least, but I hope you’re well and I’m so glad to have found your words.
“I’ve always tried to make a home for myself, but I have not felt at home in myself. I’ve worked hard at being the hero of my own life. But every time I checked the register of displaced persons, I was still on it. I didn’t know how to belong. Longing? Yes. Belonging? No.”—Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? (via bastardplanet)