Fuck “Sexy”

Yes, yes and yes. Hell, yes. Which is why I don’t buy the pervasive idea in my community that it is ‘better’ for women to cover up, because ‘it gets them respect’ or ‘it shows their self-respect’, in the form of anoying memes involving uncovered sweets, images comparing what is appropriate attire and what isn’t, etc. All women deserve respect regardless what they wear (or don’t), and a self-respecting one wouldn’t give a hoot what YOU think about what SHE puts on HER body. Because she’s more than what she wears (or doesn’t wear).

The Belle Jar

Sometimes I feel like I want to ban the word sexy. Like, take that shit out of the dictionary and impose a fine whenever someone uses it.

Which is pretty funny because I’m super sex-positive and I definitely want people to feel good about their bodies and secure in their sexuality, however it manifests itself.

But man am I ever fucking tired of how we use that word to shame girls and sell them on a bunch of gross patriarchal ideas about how they should be.

Take this picture, which was tweeted/posted by Floyd Mayweather and has been making the rounds over the past few days:


Like, first of all, this is a dude who has been charged with two counts of domestic violence. Why would anybody think that what he has to say about women is even a little bit valid? I am not really down with anyone…

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Happy Secret

I realise I’m a pretty obsessive person.

I go through obsessive phases.

This blog and wedding planning was one of them.

A few years back, it was online shopping. (Now it’s one of those things I do to either procrastinate, relieve stress or to fill time when I’ve got nothing to do.)

And now, I’m obsessed with money. To be more precise, managing it. Managing it in such a way that I can fulfil my new dream: Retire at 40.

And when I say, retire at 40, I don’t mean quit my current job and then set up my own business and worry about whether I can break even and then make enough to support myself and my family.

When I say retire at 40, I mean retire with financial independence AND working just to fill time, just because I’d get bored to death just sitting at home. But at the same time, if I felt like being a beach bum, I could, without ever having to worry about money.

So in the midst of my planning, I started calculating. And I discovered something that just made me smile so much in my heart. My heart is bursting to share it, but the voice of my paranoid always cautious husband has infiltrated into my mind and my mind is telling me, don’t divulge too much information on the Internet.

So a happy secret it is, and my heart is grinning just like a Cheshire cat.

If anyone is curious to know how I plan to achieve this retire at 40 dream of mine, I’ll give you a clue: Mr Money Moustache. 

Go ahead, google him.

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A Letter to My Muslim Son About Love

Why I love fiction: Because it suggests to me ways to be human with human experiences, rather than telling me (quite patronisingly) that there is no such thing as ‘Islamic couples’.

And I love love love the last paragraph.

Love, InshAllah


Don’t look for it. It will find you. And if it doesn’t, your aunties on your mother’s side will find it for you in the form of a young Muslim girl, probably the daughter of a doctor or a lawyer, likely the last sister in her family to be unwed. She will be cute, but not the cutest, they will say, but she’s a good, pious girl. We will all be invited for chai one day at her mansion in a gated community on a hill, but really they just want to see you, your demeanor, your ability to lead prayer in a stranger’s home, everyone putting on their most Islamic face, their most Islamic dress. You will not fail this test, but your mother and I don’t want you to take it.

We want you to be yourself. Walk your own slow, slouched, clumsy walk down the hallways of…

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