LOST LOTUS

FOOD. HEALTH. CULTURE. & -ISMS from the diaspora: eating food for research. Feel free to support my experiments by taking me out to lunch! <3

[lostlotus]

"lunch box moment"

http://www.nbcnews.com/news/asian-america/voices-have-you-ever-had-lunch-box-moment-n566411

Hi friends, please bear-hug with me as my life falls apart and I struggle to rice-paste it back together. I am working on new material for Lost Lotus and will have fresh, new, yummy ideas before you can say HAVE YOU EATEN???

[lostlotus]

This is how our favorite foods look in their natural habitats

You wouldn’t even think that these plants are edible.

Do you, like, even KNOW what food is?

Ok, as much of a "foodie" as I am, I DID NOT recognize some of these beautiful plants and it seems like maybe I should.

If I'm going to analyze and understand food and our relationships, I must KNOW food in all it's stages of life. Ideally, I would also know how to GROW all my favorite foods (or raise them, in the case of ducks and goats, and hunt them, in the case of fish and deer)

But let's start first with knowledge- over the next few days, I will research a select few of my favorite foods and share some of my findings!

[lostlotus]

a love letter to the first orange of the new year

the small tiny crunch of the first break into the skin, the sigh spray of citrus oils with every thumbful pulled back. I press ever so gently and oh, you give- you give in, you give up, you give your money, your time- whatever way you can, you GIVE.

with each peel, I know you more. I revel and awe in the unveiling of this geometrically, biologically, gastronomically globe of perfection. so carefully and ingeniously packaged in its own naturally biodegradable shell, a glorious gift from Citrona- the patron saint of the original working class juice cleanse,and sharing summer smiles

I slip you out of your dress, and here we are, naked to each other, in vulnerability and desperate desire. the peel is off and wow, it's like seeing your lover naked for the first time, shy and sweet. or your child, fresh out of the womb, innocent and unscarred

I reflect this peace and all is well in the world for this moment. I am so grateful, I am so deserving and I am so eating this orange

I try to slow myself, to take my time, to stay present and intimate and savor your curves, your juices, your scent, your pith but oh, how my primal stomach wants you, my inner child wants you, my ancestors want you. hell, every living thing wants you!

sigh. deep breath- even through my pungent lunch, your scent still strikes! I could scrub my insides clean with you. I could bathe my soul in your holy juices and be born again.

I gently peel you in half. Gasp! You still have more to reveal! An inception of innocence inside innocence! I peel one piece from the whole and isn't it beautiful isn't it a miracle a testament of how god loves us that oranges come pre-sliced to fit into human mouths?!

we finally touch- mouth to mouth, teeth, tongue- you envelope me- HOT LOUNG , en todo- all of me

you are the definition of sweet and you will remind me of it forever you will hold the bar to any sweetness that tries to love me the same.

your flesh is so familiar, are you humankind's first bite? I feel like we've known each other in a past life...

your juices run down my hands, my neck, my shirt and I don't care who sees. if they cannot appreciate our loves, I need not appreciate them

my body graciously accepts you directly into my bloodstream, ,my muscles, my tiny cell walls- where do you want to be? what part of me do you want?

this goes on- every bite like the first- till the last and like every goodbye, let's make it short, sweet, and worthy of nostalgia shhhh...don't make this any harder

let me be your disciple let me be your body and your blood let me be you and you be me

[lostlotus]

K(NO)W HISTORY, K(NO)W SELF

trigger warning: drug abuse, childhood negligence, addict parents

"What are you?"

What am I? Well, let's see, I could list off the myriad of labels I identify with and stuff myself into the pretty little box you are so desperate to tie a bow on OR we could take a journey into my past...  Ready or not, here goes!

My father dodged the draft and made the perilous journey across seas and refugee camps to join my grandfather in the States and satisfactorily "establish" themselves in order to sponsor rest of the family. My mother realized finally a blessing in the curse of being a mixed-blood abandoned daughter of an American soldier- $white guilt$ (and still lots of hard earned money) bought her and her immediate family "priority" to the States.

I grew up in a working class South Vietnamese immigrant family where neither parents recieved higher than a ~10th grade education (unless you count the School of Hard Knocks and Kriminals). My mom worked at a nail salon, a billiards bar, and a textiles sweatshop (one of my earliest memories is sleeping in a pile of soft stuff under her industrial sewing machine) My dad was a gangster and a hustler and since more risk= less hours, he also played the role of stay-at-home dad, though it was more like hang-out-at-the-coffeshop-with-dad.

Tight knit family on both sides and vibrant friendships manifest as all night karaoke ragers centered around a seafood hotpot on a tarp on the floor. We were poor monetarily, but we were rich in spirit and bellies! I remember the night before we got a dining table. My mom, dad, and I sat on the kitchen floor in our Garden Grove apartment. They were so excited, talking about how we would soon have a table to eat on, one step closer to the American dream. I was just excited about dinner.

During one of my dad's last, long stints in prison, I guess my mom got tired of being a gangster's wife. Do you know what it's like to drive that junky Honda Prelude to a federal prison with your five year old daughter, walk through security doors and desolate hallways to a sterile cold room full of sadness just to touch her father through 3 inch bulletproof glass? Sigh, by no means do I advocate or condone but I definitely understand why my mom left.

Mom remarries white guy from Texas. I eat bologna for the first time. Not only that, he introduces me to weird TOTALLY WHITE stoner food conconctions- like just melting cheese on top of potato chips? grilled bologna and cheese? vienna sausage and cheese omelets? We also moved to a less Viet (more Korean, Hispanic and yes, white) city and my mom worked at the nail shop more, leaving me with his white-trash food.

When my mom left the white guy/ my "stepdad", we all thought it was a-ok but bam! another meteor from the universe- my mom starts abusing drugs, some of the ugliest ones. We were also living in DFW at the time, far away from the help of any family. So basically I was left raising myself and my 2 brothers with a bare pantry and menial income and a mother who was never home. When she was home, she was using in the bathroom, with the door locked. I still can't decide if it was better when she was home, using, or when we didn't know where she was...

My senior year, I answered the door to a CPS (Child Protective Services) worker. I would never invite a governmental authority employee into my home (and the mono-culture of the US's social services-don't even) but when you're 17 and don't know any better and just want OUT, you gotta do what you gotta do. The next few months were a mess. My brothers and I were separated. My mother was ordered to stay away from us. I successfully numbed all thoughts, pains, phone calls with my own drugs of choice. I still barely remember that year.

After high school, I moved in with my estranged-ish (there's a big difference in seeing your father a few weeks every summer and being raised by him...) father here in beautiful Westminster, California, where I was born and raised, my home as I could never find it elsewhere. I was hoping to put the past in the past and start anew but that would've just been way too easy, huh? (and where would I get the material for my next zine?!)

Guess what, baby girl? TRAUMA DOESN'T JUST GO AWAY. _______________________________________________________________

So, what am I? I am a hell of a lot more than you think I am.

[lostlotus]

I'm not white & I have an eating disorder

Such a simple seeming statement carrying so many implications. As are most of the services and resources in the Western world, eating disorder counseling and treatment are aimed at white folks. Hell, EATING itself is aimed at white folks! ("White Girl Asian Food"?!?!) When POC struggle with food, it is seen as simply a bad habit, not health-threatening behavior. Perhaps this is because our lives are perceived to be less valuable than white folks? Perhaps it is our fault? Perhaps we should just be grateful that we are not starving in a third world country?

FUCK THAT.

Over these next few months, I commit to exploring eating disorders in myself, communities of color, and the Asian Pacific Islander communities. You are invited to join.

We'll start here- these are my notes/ideas from a workshop presented by my wonderful friend and inspiration Gloria of @nalgonapride, a Chicana body love movement based in Los Angeles. She and the NPP community catalyzed and nurtured my struggle into tangibility, as it exists as Lost Lotus here and now. I am ever so grateful ❤❤🌹🌹🍩🍩 Please, read her blog, buy her merch, and send her Krispy Kreme donuts!

"I'm Not White and I Have An Eating Disorder"

Historical trauma literally stresses genes, affecting future generations- "genetic predisposition" i.e. famine>overfeeding>overeating

Why do I compulsively overeat?- We are still in the past. We are stuck in the famine and haven't been allowed to heal (capitalism does not give us time to heal) We will behave in response to our ancestors' environment. We are eating for the past.

*post traumatic slave syndrome.

We are embodying that trauma of generations past, our ancestors hurt.

A dysfunctional adaptation of ceremony

How do we heal from historical trauma? -refuse assimilation -talk about it: acknowledge and recognize bullshit -know where you come from -decolonize your diet: the food of the oppressors are a tool of oppressionĵ, making us weak (inherently and intentionally unhealthy food) and dependent (controlled food supply)

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your body, my body is a tangible trophy of survival and resistance you don't walk out of jail, you don't walk out of the past. you crawl. you struggle. you eat. you pray. you grit your teeth. & smile for all those who lived before you, for the legacy of resistance and to all those who thought they could bury that legacy ya'll didn't know we were seeds

[lostlotus]

CHUC MUNG NAM MOI!

It's been ~1 year since I set off on this culinary journey/experiment of decolonizing my diet to detox my body, fridge, pantry of white American foods that have for so long betrayed my teeth and taste buds, my dopamine and endorphine receptors, my past, present, future, making me sick and addicted, dependent and clueless. Today, I am more in touch with what I eat and how I eat it, more aware of the evolution of diets, and less tempted by fake foods.

My fridge today, 1 year into a decolonized diet:

-pre washed and cut greens (mustard greens, beet greens, arugula, Chinese brocolli, bok choy) - ~2 quarts miso soup with ginger, garlic, shredded mushrooms, wakame seaweed, soft tofu, daikon -stirfried leeks -steamed beansprouts -a family size jar of kimchi -a few boiled chicken eggs and salted duck eggs -mandarins, cara caras, tangelos, mangos, papaya, avocado, apples -genmaicha tea, ginger lemonade, apple cider vinegar drink, and some ca phe su da, of course

White foods that I've accepted and embraced: nut butter, sauerkraut, goat cheese, yogurt, thin mint Girl Scout cookies, and In N Out (is my California showing?) Everything in moderation

So what have I learned? How have I changed?

-I can and will continue to cure all my ailments (be it a sore wrist or a 2 week long cold) with food and plant medicine!

-some similarities amongst non-white cultures include: family meals, fresh herbs and spices, eating with the geography and seasons, and being thankful as opposed to entitled

-fermented is my favorite food group (miso, kimchi, fish sauce AND sauerkraut, yogurt, non-cow cheeses)

-annnnnd, epiphany/confession: I have an eating disorder. More on this later...

This year has brought me lots of ups and just as many downs and I am grateful for ALL of it. From my culinary home of pho and banh beo to tamales and birria to sinigang and halohalo to, yes, even kale chips and vegan donuts- I can't think of something greater to be greatful for- I was and am well fed.

My plans to move forward this year: -in honor of the new year and with respect and gratitude for all life, I will continue decolonizing my diet as a vegetarian for the first 30-90 days of the year -develop accessible and culturally relevant workshops/educational material/discussion group for the Asian Pacific Islander community -explore eating disorders in API community -study, research, and hang out with other folks involved in food-culture politics!

Happy Lunar New Year! I wish you all prosperity, good health, sound spirit, sufficient resources to accomplish your goals, healthy relationships, creative inspiration, a decolonized diet, a trip out of the US, and a conversation in your native/nonEnglish tongue!

[lostlotus]

ca phe sua da @ Chez Rose

INSERT PHOTO HERE

I am about to get FUCKED UP on this coffee.

The cracks in the floor are filled with white cigarette ash. Some guy just rolled up on a pink mountain bike blastin Vietnamese folk-country. The coffee is strong. I am at Chez Rose, a coffee drinkin, imported Viet cigarette smokin, majong tile slammin, laughter filled cafe in my hometown of Westminster, CA.

This is actually my first time, in 24 years of life, in ~6 years of coffee drinkin, cigarette smokin adulthood, that I have ever been here. Usually, I would go sit outside Phuoc Loc Tho (Asian Garden Mall, not a direct translation), or Lee's Sandwiches or any of the thousand boba shops within walking distance for my ca phe sua da&cigarette but today, my curiosity pulls me, I dare to step outside of my bounds and into theirs.

I've always believed this place to be "out of my league" as in I, being a woman, being young, being westernized, am culturally, socially, hierarchally barred from patronizing this (woman owned!) establishment. I walk by to scope the scene, it's not as packed as usual and there are tables away from the chaos. Who knows how many unwritten laws I am breaking but despite all the opposing labels and identities I may carry, I am still Vietnamese and you know what that means? On top of honor and pride and filial piety, it means not giving a fuck. We are guerilla warriors and that applies to this little girl who wants to play with the big boys. These cultural truths we (as a people) preach and live by are overdue to backfire. Joke's on you, Asian patriarchs of the past! I muster up the last bit of  feminist courage inspired by years of being seen and not heard and strut in the front door, steady stepped and head high, (RIOT GRRRLS cheering me on in the bleachers of my mind)

I order "mot li ca phe sua da" in fluent Vietnamese. Elders I encounter on the street (knowing the language or not, I cannot help but be a social butterfly), always comment on how "ran"- fluent- my tongue is. This always makes me glow with that red&yellow pride. The barista woman asks me more or less milk? I say less, I like the strong bitters and I want her and other patrons to know I can handle coffee like them- a dark glass is a badge of honor. She takes my money and tells me have a seat, she'll bring it out when it's ready. I pick a table respectfully out of the way, I'm sure my presence itself is distraction enough, I don't need center stage. Co Rose comes out with 2 glasses- 1 coffee and 1 iced tea (this is standard at most sit-down Viet cafes) The first glass is half full of the darkest ca phe sua I've ever seen. She asks me to taste it, I take a sip and DAMN, I am about to get fucked up. I nod my head and lie, this is perfect. I'm afraid if I ask for more milk, I'll come off as some little girl who can't hang. I roll a cigarette, which always attracts unwarranted attention wherever I am, and stir/muddle my coffee. There's a specific technique to this and I do it proudly, like a veteran (of coffee and this culture war.) I smoke and write as the ice melts to dilute the coffee. I prepare mentally to receive and integrate this caffeine and lose all my sleep tonight.

A few hand rolled cigarettes later and shiikes, this is still strong as fuck. The coffee starts kickin in and I am immersed in the bellowing laughter, the perpetual smoke, the slamming ma jong tiles, the loud outbursts. I am hoping for a distraction to slow my coffee intake and here he is- a man dressed in saffron robes and a shaved head approaches me. He greets me with a bow and offers a Buddhist prayer bracelet, and a card that reads "Work Smoothly, Lifetime of Peace." In gentle, broken Vietnamese (he sounds/looks Chinese), he conveys that he is raising money to build a temple. Usually, I do not give money to anyone/anything as I believe money is easily corruptible and time/work are more valuable but I give in and give him 4 dollars, not enough to really corrupt anything anyway. As he moves on, I slide on the bracelet- it still sits next to my jade bangle- and revel in the thought- where else does a monk approach you but in Little Saigon?

Now sufficiently high on coffee and refreshed by the gift of giving, I am maybe more comfortable than I should be and start interacting with my environment. I jump into a passing conversation, joking that I'll hold onto this man cigarettes as he gets food. He reprimands me for giving money to a fake monk (what??? how was I supposed to know?!) but still gives me his pack of Cravens and asks me what kind of banh mi I want.

When they come back, chu Huy hands me a sandwich and he and Co Mai pull up two chairs. He's bold, friendly, talkative and immediately jumps into heavy some conversation- "So what do you believe? Are you da phat/Buddhist?" He starts lecturing about religion, speaking some new truths, or at least wiping the dust off some forgotten ones. Co Mai makes the sign of the buddha (a half hand lotus) over her heart and takes  a drag of her cigarette.

We sit and talk, not talk, eat, drink coffee, play games, let our days unravel into and around each other's. We bask in coffee and cigarettes and the white noise of Little Saigon and it is pure glory.

My father calls and asks me to pick up the car. I get another coffee for his friend/our mechanic and gather my books, tobacco, strewn about comfortably. My companions greet me as a niece, hope to see me soon, and offer me a Viet-English dictionary (to match/combat the Spanish-English dictionary I have in my arms?) next time we meet.

I walk down Bolsa, glowing from the coffee, conversation, and culture I can proudly and distinctly understand. For 3 days. No joke, that coffee is stronger than cocaine.

[lostlotus]

down with the sickness

"Why don't you just take some real medicine?" -asked my aunt this past week when the cold season finally caught up with me.

No big deal, just a sniffle here and a cough there and a raging headache on top of it. I'm a tough cookie and my active lifestyle and healthy diet are medicine enough. Sometimes sickness just reminds you to stfu and slow down, which maybe I needed.

But to my family, being ill, at any intensity, for any duration, is grounds for stress and panic. I'm not sure whether this comes from the fortune cookie saying "No greater wealth than health" because true, one cannot enjoy all life has to offer when one is sick. Or maybe (and this is what I'm cautiously and disappointedly leaning towards), if one is sick, one cannot work. Or go to school (to get a job to work) Or raise children (who will grow up to work) A natural primitive concern if we serve in the same community- sickness>death>burden on others.

The American perspective (more individualized and insane than that of the West, in general) from the top of the food chain demands that we not "give in" to sickness, accept our vulnerability and, most of all, allow ourselves and each other to slow down and be sick. Because, we are humans! We are better than Nature! We are better than Death! 

...and because your company needs to turn a higher profit this year. So chin up, get outta bed, drug yourself to numbness and let's make sure you never feel this signal of distress from your body because that's some hippie shit and real men WORK through their flu.

Having bought season passes to the American Dream, my aunt, grandmother, stepmother, father, even my little sister are always insisting that I take medicine. And by medicine, they mean that stuff in a bottle with a 14 syllable name that sounds like the fucking demon of Pharmaland that you can only get from mysterious prescriptions magical almighty Westernized doctors bestow on you that you must then pay top dollar$$$ for! As if the less we know about it, the better it must be. As if only Western society and their precise sciences and machines could understand something as universal as the body. As if it won't "work" unless your practitioner paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to study this modern medicine (germ theory, virology, surgery, pharmaceuticals- treating of the symptoms and not of the root) that's been around for like hmmm...200 YEARS?! Versus 2000+ year old holistic Eastern modalities that use and integrate plants, animals, the human body, mind and spirit, and the all encompassing ecology?

Did you know iatrogenic (physician-caused) diseases is actually the 3rd leading cause of death in the United States?

As if this chicken noodle soup, this ginger lemonade, this astragalus tea, this oranges, lemons, kumquats, these guavas, papayas, cherimoya, this bone broth, this whole grain, this excercise, this garlic, pepper, mint!- is this all bullshit? Have 2000 years of billions of people been wrong? Have we been in the dark or are you blinded by the light?

Chicken soup or robotussin? Tulsi tea or xanax? Ginger chew or pepto bismol?

We've known this, individually and collectively, for ages. We know this deep in the pits of our bellies- FOOD. IS. MEDICINE. Don't trust it if you can't eat it ;D

How? How did we forget something so important...?

While ya'll contemplate this, I'm gonna enjoy being quiet, catch up on reading, not working, and eating delicious medicine 🍊☕🍲🍸

[lostlotus]

what's in yo fridge?? part I

So I think the best way to illustrate the evolution of this diet is by showing you what I eat, how I eat and maybe we'll learn a little bit about WHY I eat.

A little background- Pre Deco Diet: I became a vegetarian at 16 and held on for ~6 years. In my early 20's, I lived in a hippie punk house with a no meat policy and a glorious sanctioned dumpstering agreement with Whole Foods. Throughout my life, so many of my friends were veg/an and/or had rigid food allergies/philosophies.

My environment and peers nurtured a very conducive environment to a healthy, non-Standard American Diet. However, as "healthy" as it was, it still wasn't MINE. It didn't pay attention to my self and spirit, ask the very esoteric and crucial details of what I am, where I come from. It was the standard of the non-standard.

(When I went home to my dad's or grandma's, they didn't understand. Not eating meat was unconventional, but understood, as many Buddhists are vegan (but for religious purposes, not philosophical/environmental) Not eating meat, fried foods, bread, and sweet treats were just wtf??? As if as an American, this is an American privilege, and not taking advantage of it was a waste.)

Given my resources and perspective, my diet through ages 19-22, pre-deco diet:

reclaimed fruits and veggies (mostly western grocery varieties not the kind I find at home) i.e. sweet potatoes, kale, tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, asparagus

weird fancy breads i.e. gluten free, sprouted

hyped up grains i.e. quinoa, amaranth, brown rice

fake meats i.e. veggie burger patties, sausages

vegenaise and dijon mustard

cookies, pastries, gourmet baked goods that fueled my sugar addiction (yes, it's a real thing!)

+dinner parties, juice parties, and the plain old parties in which excess and epicureanism ran rampant

Sigh. It's true, we were/are blessed. Our lives abundant, enough to share. Our taste buds perked, refined, cultured. Fuck, we sound like a goddamn Whole Foods commercial! Are you starting to see?

From who's gaze are we seeing...?

[lostlotus]

I will right the wrongs with my body, my people, my culture

Lunar New Year 2015- commitments on the new moon

No white/American foods the first 30 days of the new year. If my grandmother didn't eat it, neither will I. (I actually continued this experiment and have adopted it as my daily diet, as much as possible)

Point of clarification: "white food"= the enriched, fortified, bleached, dyed, mass produced, subsidized, plastic barely edible food stuff at your monopolized American grocery store, or, DINER. Think white bread, hot dogs, yellow-orange cheese, individually wrapped!, and of course the all- American TWINKIE! Even more wholesome "authentic" American food- mashed potatoes, steak, mac n cheese has proven to not be of the highest nutritional quality. Not to say all this shit isn't delicious! Throw a stick of butter in somethin and of course it's delicious. DISCLAIMER: Not a judgment on you, just your food :)

DECOLONIZE YOUR DIET- a health plan for mind & body

1. native foods, recipes, ingredients from Vietnam & Southeast Asia (Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and vicinity i.e. pho, cha goi (eggrolls), ca ri (curry), rice noodles, lemongrass, fish, etc.  2. foods from north Asia- China, Korea, Japan- and the Asian Pacific islands- Philippines, Indonesia (I understand this is not an exhaustive list)

The point here is to stay as close to home as possible. the genetically local food movement :)

Now that^ is a LOT of delicious cuisine to choose from and if I was in a little Asian bubble, this experiment would've been a piece of moon cake. But alas, any experiment that you plan to live will only work if you acknowledge and address day-to-day reality. My reality is that I live in California, the settlement and fusions of countless diasporas and my mixed, multicolored community. One of the things we do best is to share food, every gathering revolves around food, food being a manifestation of our love and gratitude for each other, and the temptation of homemade (of course!) tamales led me to-

3. foods from non-white cultures! That means, yes, please bring me the foods of India, Brazil, Saudi Arabia, Madagascar, Mexico, Hawaii, Ghana, El Salvador, and yes please, even Easter Island!

If you do not wear the mask of my oppressor (or my father's or grandfather's) and want to feed me, I will gladly accept with open heart, hands, mouth :D

And since I'm detoxing from white food addiction (nah, it's a real thing. Stockholm syndrome- food edition) I gave myself an exception-

4. white foods are OK *in moderation* and ONLY if it's homemade and/or a gift. AND I would have to eat it with chopsticks, which I habitually carried in my purse and proudly whipped out at every meal :D

[lostlotus]

the body struggles: American food in an Asian body

It all started with my first slice of Kraft singles, my first strawberry shortcake ice cream bar, my first Coke.

They (my family) didn't understand this food was hurting me, a young growing body, in need of nutrients American food simply does not have and possessing a childish affinity to excess fats, sugars, salts- the foundation of the American diet. They believe, as many immigrants do, that America and by extension American food is "A-ok!", the best of the best, that somehow America ate its way to the top of the international ladder. Enriched this, fortified that. My family speaks of how kids don't have enough growing up in Vietnam but having experienced the Standard American Diet myself and observing/connecting food and disease, I would argue that excess is killing us, less is more. But then again, I've never raised a child in a third world country so thanks mom, dad, ngoai, di Ba, etc!

Just as we learn the victor's history, we eat the victor's food, whether true (to time, to our bodies) or not. 

To call their imposed American diet and assimilation on me "negligent" or malicious in any way is exaggerated and inaccurate and ideological at most. My family loved me and wanted me to belong and let's not forget, they were working class immigrants who would guiltily plop me in front of a TV with a bag of chips so they could catch a few hours of rest. They were misinformed, exploited, and poor, as so many immigrants are, as even so Americans are and they passed  that on, I still carry some of it today, in my pockets of fat and affinity to cheap food. Have you heard of #GENERATIONAL TRAUMA?

They did not realize by feeding me this another culture's food, they were acculturating and assimilating me into America and farther from Vietnam. Without a return ticket, without the cushion of my extended family and their symphony of Viet language and feasts, without an observation or understanding that we must proactively practice our culture in the face of white supremacy, I was doomed to stay in America and be an American (at least until I could buy that ticket back myself)

Nor did they notice that they were in fact contributing to the plumpness they were ridiculing. I was a chunky little Asian girl (and a chunky young woman with the gift/curse of glorious but western CURVES) What did anyone expect? Excess fats, sugars, salts are ADDICTING, especially to such young tongues. (I don't need to quote a source for this, take a bite of cheese/pie/fries, and tell me you don't want another)

To this day, I equate cookies, soft white bread, potato chips i.e. the Standard American Diet (SAD!) to the innocence of my childhood when I knew no better, when I was impervious to the excess fats, sugars, sodium, when I didn't give a fuck about the deficit nutritional value. It's like Stockholm Syndrome but worse because I MUST EAT. It's fucked up, really, seeing your abuser at every restaurant, every dinner party, everywhere you go because people eat everywhere! Sigh, what to do, what to do...?

DECOLONIZE YOUR DIET

[lostlotus]

You are what you eat. Food as medicine.

Theory -> action

If food can heal my physical, tangible ailments, can it heal my spirit? Can food mend my heartstrings back together? Can food fix my fucked up mental geography? Can food patch the holes in my self esteem?

Can it repair the abandoned bridges between mind, body, spirit? Past, present, future?

Does coming to a Vietnamese owned restaurant, eating traditional Vietnamese foods, in an atmosphere of Vietnamese music and language- can all that contribute to the rebuilding of my broken body?

Macrobiotics and Ayurveda, schools of food thought I admire and integrate into my being, are authentic, ancient, wise, holistic, much better than Western ideas of food but still, they’re not mine. Find YOUR medicine- VIETNAM.

You are my antibody.

You are my lost hope.

You are my reason.

Fuck the master cleanse, juice fasts, candida diet- TRUST YOUR GUT. GO BACK TO YOUR ROOTS. DECOLONIZE YOUR DIET. EAT VIETNAM.

“If your grandmother doesn’t recognize it, it’s not food.”