Category Archives: food

Bullshit masquerading as advice. Ignore


I’ve talked about my enormous weight gain in a previous post. Well, today I have some good news. I’ve dropped a couple of kilos. Six, to be exact.

Yaay me.

I wanted to call this post ‘what skinny girls know and what the fatties loathe to admit‘…but I thought that might be a bit offensive. Anyway, I’m going to talk about sacrifice, achieving your goals and why you should ignore what people say.

I know this may come naturally for many of you super-humans out there, but if, like me, you are a master at brainwashing yourself and refusing to take responsibility, read on.

The other day, I went out with my friend for lunch. She picked a fried chicken joint that reeks of old, rancid oil. And then she worked her way through five gigantic pieces of deep fried, breaded chicken.

Me, I had a coffee.

At some point, she thrust a piece in my face and demanded that I take it. I said, ‘no thanks’ without batting an eyelid.

Come on, Kristin, one piece won’t hurt! You are so skinny and sexy already, you don’t need to punish yourself all the time!’

This is what I get for punishing' myself

This is what I get for punishing’ myself

Tell me, please, how am I punishing myself by refusing to eat a week’s worth of fat in one sitting? How am I punishing myself by refusing to eat greasy food that will make me ill?

No thank you, dear friend, if this is punishing myself, then suffer away I will.

The thing is, most of my friends don’t realise that my new found health is a result of the daily choices that I make.  This shit did not come naturally.

This is how 'treating' myself worked out for me. It's when I decided that enough was enough

This is how ‘treating’ myself worked out for me. I’m too ashamed to even show my face here

And that ‘eat anything you want and go to the gym’ has failed so spectacularly for me in the past that I vowed never to take on another gym membership.

They see me everyday and the change is so gradual that it’s easy to miss. Even I didn’t see it until my favourite skinny jeans suddenly developed a little pouch where my ass used to be.

People who meet me imagine I’ve always been like this. And take offence when I refuse to inhale a box of chocolate biscuits with them. ‘Come on, Kristin, what’s the harm? Treat yourself!!’

The truth is, losing weight (and being healthy) does not just magically appear as you down litres of Coke and other weird stuff that people imagine is food. Neither does it come by going on a short term, insane regime and then running back to the bad habits you had before. It takes time.

this is not food. This is death on a plate

this is not food. This is death on a plate

And sacrifice.

Yeah, I said it, sacrifice. I’ve noticed that few people really appreciate the hard work that goes behind any real success in life. We look at athletes and assume that they were born that way. We look at the kid who graduated with honours and say that he must have been born a genius.

We look at that shapely girl and think how lucky she is to have a fast metabolism.

It's because I have a slow metabolism

It’s because I have a slow metabolism

Lies. All lies.

There are plenty of self help books that tell you stuff like ‘visualize your success and the universe will give it to you…’, ‘follow this special formula that only I know and success will be yours tomorrow.’

It’s like we have forgotten that we do actually need to work hard to get what we want. Yes, luck plays a part. Yes, genes are important. But they are not excuses for bad behaviour. Or letting yourself off easily because you ‘have a slow metabolism’ or you aren’t ‘smart enough’, or you ‘have terrible luck’ or your teacher ‘hates’ you.

Bullshit.

Did I make sacrifices? Yes. Was it easy? Not always. Was it worth it? Absolutely!

It pays to look at the daily life choices we make. And yes, your mother was right: you do need to work hard.

Preaching session over, never to return againg. But, I have started a blog where I will unleash the full of extent of my new found food Nazism. If you are interested in that kind of thing, check it out. One post so far. 

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India: First Impressions


”You are just going so that you can avoid responsibility. If you want to go to a third world country, why not move back to Kenya?”

I had plenty of time to reflect on these sentiments during my long, long journey  to Chandigarh. And ask myself, why, as my friends were applying for jobs, I was hustling another traineeship. In India.

My well had been poisoned.

Once I got to New Delhi, India hit me so hard I had no more time for self doubt and emo angst. I was soon relieved of a good part of my stupid tourist money, and instantly began to pay more attention to my surroundings and less to  my existential questions.

It’s been four days or so and I think I can make my first list of wildly judgemental and probably inaccurate observations about this  my new home:

1. Traffic rules are for tools: Everyone knows that driving in this country is sheer madness. What they don’t tell you is that road anarchy is a way of life. A philosophy, even. Motorists frequently drive into oncoming traffic to avoid making detours, pedestrians casually saunter across the road wherever they feel like, and everyone hoots ALL the time. Throw in the occasional horse drawn carriage, chilled out water buffalo/cow, bikes and scooters with nonchalant women perched on the side all sharing the same space, and well, it can be a little overwhelming. Fortunately for me, my city is quite well planned, so I’ve never actually been caught in a traffic jam.

my city on a good day (meetravels.blogspot.com)

2. Cigarettes are Satan’s breath: I have never been to place where it is so socially unacceptable to light up. At most, I have seen ten people smoking. I think this is specific to my city, but there are threatening signs in both open air space and closed ones, curtly informing you that ”it is an offence to smoke here”. Come on, what happened to the neutral ”no smoking” sign? Even our little dusty neighbourhood market is thoroughly offended by these uncouth beings poisoning everyone else around them with their demonic sulphur and tar (or whatever).

3. East meets west…on our terms: In my hood, there is a Subway sandwich shop. Squeezed in between Happy Singh’s general supermarket and a burnt out parking lot. And all over the city, you can see McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Dominoes, KFC, United Colours of Benneton, Ralph Lauren, Polo and other over priced, pretentious clothing brands. You just have to find them, partially hidden by signs advertising ‘Spoken English lessons here ‘ , ‘Royal Real Estate Services’ and giant posters advertising skin lightening creams that will take all your problems away and help you find that perfect man.

4. The heat: I arrived in India during Summer. And my colleagues delight in telling me that I ain’t seen nothing yet, and that it will get hotter soon. Before it starts raining. And then they ask me, ”but it’s also hot in Kenya, right’?’

Well now, the glue in my wallet does not melt after four hours in a train in Kenya. My face does no glow in the dark from all the accumulated heat every evening in Kenya. I don’t feel the heat from the tarmac burning me while I’m on a bike in Kenya. I don’t sleep without sheets or a blanket at night in Kenya.

So no, it’s not the same weather in Kenya.

5. What are these chest appendages that you display?: I made the mistake of wearing a vest to the supermarket. There was a man standing behind me, looking all holy and guru-ish in his turban. We queued for about ten minutes, and in that time he must have caught up with ten years worth of ogling, as well as probably committing everything to memory to serve him for his remaining days, I don’t know. I was uncomfortable, but at the same time, did not want to make it worse by self consciously fiddling around with my clothes. So, yeah, kind of awkward.

So far so good, right? Well, I have to register myself at the government office in the next couple of days. And officially meet my boss  who is currently away on a very busy and important trip.

Guest Post: Pakistan Zinabad


Some of you may know that Jeremy and his giant balls of steel are currently in Pakistan on internship. Here is what he thinks so far….

Tuesday September 20th 2011

 And then the culture shock set in. I got tired of the constant staring, I got tired of the slowness, I got tired of the conservatism, I got tired of the weather, I got tired of not drinking beer at free will, I got tired of overpriced, secretive disgusting beer, I got tired of the lack of personal space, I got tired that everyone does things so slowly. I wanted to book a flight home NOW NOW at 1.56pm sitting at my desk slouching in my chair. .ac whirring behind me.

And then I wanted to continue saying what I was tired of: I got tired of everyone speaking a different language, I got tired of how the food makes me lazy (I just overate at lunch as usual) I got tired of people speaking about me in Urdu, I got tired of reading blogs at work, I got tired of being told ‘its not safe’.

But then I realized, I keep writing, ‘got’ meaning its not a permanent state. Before I came here, I made the conscious decision to like this place, I do like this place. Until now, when I feel I just ‘got tired’.

I decided to tell you that the people here are warm and kind; but I also have to tell you that violence and risk is part of life here. I didn’t tell you that we go to places with armed guards cause ‘its not safe’. I also didn’t tell you that nothing is definite in Pakistan; brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, ‘God willing’ or more fitting here ‘InshAllah’.

I decided to tell you that the food is awesome. I didn’t tell you that I almost died from the diarrhea. I thought I left my stomach in the toilet, ‘look, there is my rectum in the toilet’. I also didn’t tell you about 1am trips to the roadside restaurants, sitting there until 6am..that was awesome.

I decided to tell you that we go out at 1am. But I also didn’t tell you that I was at a roadside restaurant at 6am and some crazy guard with his standard AK-47 (note I’m not talking about a policeman) started shooting in the air…a few minutes later I ate that food like nothing happened..cause life goes on here.

I decided to tell you about the wonderful people I met. I didn’t tell you that some of them carry guns out of necessity, and I learnt how to use a gun. It was lying there, next to the Pepsi (coke has its ass kicked out here) as we sat around at someone’s dinner table. As I shifted from glass to gun, I sipped my pepsi, and then put the bullets back into the clip causally. And cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger, and then asked for more pepsi as we discussed the rules of handling guns and what we would do in the situation that a gun was needed..guns are NOT cool, they are cold, hard, heavy and sexy..? I am never getting one for myself.

I decided to tell you about all the places I have been to. I didn’t tell you about the violence that comes out of nowhere in the places on the way to my destination. I took a few pictures, except of the guy with the semi-automatic (he was with us though…)

I decided to tell you that I had a long Eid holiday. I didn’t tell you that I was listening to live gunshots and all kinds of guns with people celebrating all over. Ps. bullets come down bitches, don’t kill us in celebration!

I decided to tell you that I love the experience in Pakistan, but I also made a mental note to myself, that I like the experience, but do I like the country…hm…Pakistan Zindabad (google that)…

ps, don’t tell my parents lol