My doctor told me that losing weight would be challenging.

“You know, because of that ‘being-a-brown-person’ thing,” she said.

She said it would have been my ancestors who stored calories that survived the famines.

The ancestors who could stomach the meager scraps given to them;

The ones that would swallow the moldy bread crusts,
Chew the fatty rotting meats,
Or break their teeth on dried beans.

Those who would stay hungry and moving for days on end,
Having given their food and water to their children,
Willing their legs to move forward,
And their backs not to break under the heat of the sun.

The ones who survived.

I don’t know if the math checks out on that.

I do know Grandma was always worried about my weight.

She once told me how much her father’s mother sold for.

I am 285 pounds sterling,
and I need to slim down.