Why I’m Not Happy For Kylie Jenner

I’m not mad at Kylie Jenner for almost being a billionaire. I’m mad at the idea that she’s “self-made”. The cover of Forbes’ latest issue has been posted literally everywhere and I couldn’t be more annoyed every time I see Kylie Jenner’s face slapped across it. For starters, the article reads, “America’s Women Billionaires”, yet we haven’t heard even a word of the other, and I must stress on this- self-made, women on the list. All we’ve heard about is Kylie Jenner and her $900 million empire. I’ll take a second out and do all of us a favour, here are the names of a few of the other women mentioned-

Diane Hendricks, Marian Ilitch, Judy Faulkner, Meg Whitman, Johnelle Hunt, Opray Winfrey, Judy Love, Doris Fisher, Elaine Wynn, Lynda Resnick – For the complete list, visit www.forbes.com/self-made-women

Surprisingly, all of these women have a higher net worth than Kylie. Net worths that are actually above the billion dollar mark but the only “self-made” woman billionaire we get to hear about is Kylie.

I haven’t stopped rolling my eyes…if you couldn’t tell already. 

The cover goes on to highlight that she’s soon to be the youngest billionaire in the world, my, my, I wonder how!

Was it the sister whose sex tape blew up? Which subsequently led to a family show on reality TV? Was it the huge amount of brain-dead viewers who would buy literally anything the Kardashians put their name on? Was it leaching off a multimillionaire empire built on scandals by her family?

I guess we will never know! 

P.S., while we’re at it, let me leak a sex tape and later sue the same entertainment company who circulated it and make my first five million dollars! Hashtag Self Made! (I’m looking at you, Kim)

I’m not trying to take Kylie’s credibility away, I’m sure her company means the world to her but you can’t say she built it herself when she’s had a PR team, a design team, a whole lab to create products, funds and customers at her disposal even before she started. A self-made woman would not have the same headstart she has had, a self-made woman (or man, or anyone in between) would not have the privilege to become a billionaire at 21.

What I find even crazier than all the people arguing “Why can’t we all just be happy for her” and “You’re not a real feminist!” is the gofundme that has been started by her fans in attempts to get Kylie to her nine zeroes faster than ever, again without any real effort put forth by the business tycoon herself…commendable! 

kylie go fundme

I’m rolling my eyes again. 

It’s times like these when people stop taking poor people seriously, they begin undermining their very real struggles by saying, “If Kylie Jenner can do it, why don’t they get to work and stop complaining?”, failing to acknowledge the incredible headstart she’s had. It’s disgusting and everyone who’s spewing bullshit along these lines needs to smell some coffee, and get WOKE.

The world is in absolute shambles and I almost can’t believe that we have a gofundme page (THAT PEOPLE ARE FUNDING AS WE SPEAK, just so you know) to donate a 100 million dollars to Kylie Jenner. There are so many better ways we can spend our money instead of just making the rich even richer. Our money should be going into improving issues such as food security (yes, people around the world are starving, I’m sure Kylie can handle the blow of a few custom Guccis she won’t be able to buy), health care issues in Africa and East Asia, education for the underprivileged so they actually have a chance to make a better future for themselves, war-torn countries, these are the critical issues that we must be donating to, not the Kardashians, for god’s sake.

And to everyone coming at me saying, “Can’t we all just be happy for Kylie Jenner”, I’m sorry but can’t we all just take the upper 1%’s undeserving wealth and redistribute it? How about making the world a better place for the people who it isn’t so beautiful for?

As for feminism, it isn’t a veil you can “hide” behind. Just because you’re a woman, it doesn’t mean we won’t call you out on your bullshit. In fact, that’s exactly what feminism is. Feminism is calling women out, calling men out, calling the people in between out, calling everyone out. As for you, if you don’t appreciate that, you’ve got it wrong and you need to stop shoving your “feminism” down everybody else’s throats.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. And yes, I am a feminist.

 

 

Advertisements

Happy Mother’s Day

I bought a brand new blanket and I thought of you,
how its touch was soft like your palms against my forehead when I had the flu and tender enough to remind me of how you were always kind in a world that was always cruel.
Every tear caught in its fabric made me think of every tear I cried to you,
sometimes I wonder if each tear you wiped seeped into the tips of your thumbs and there’s a part of me in the blood that goes through your lungs, I hope I am somehow as close to your heart as you are to mine that even though the stitches in old blankets crumble at a touch- there is a life where our heartbeats are still synchronized.
You see, I saw this blanket so new and full
like a breath held at the back of my throat, and I couldn’t help but note, that these edges close to bursting at the seams were just like you holding me together through all the storms in between
it was a thing no one knew better than you- how to hold a family together even if the roof was falling through.
Every time this blanket covers me, I can feel the length of your arms over my shoulders and when I think about the future, I can picture this blanket coming undone, would I be able to trace this feathered yarn to where it all begun?
If I cling on to that strained string long enough, would I be able to remember the way you held my fingers when I was three, would I be able to remember the warmth of your embrace every time that blanket surrounds me?
This, I cannot say.
But on nights like these, where the world seems to shrink to the size of my fist and you are still nowhere to be found,
I can’t help but wonder,
if this blanket were a kite, could I float up and bring you down?

To no one

Disclaimer/// Dear family members please don’t worry, not related to me… 😂❤️

Dear passer-by,

I hope your day started with a smile. Mine began with a “why” and rather defeated sigh. I looked in the mirror, finding about 35 and a half things wrong with my figure. Half because I like one lip more than the other, I felt the tears well up, I wondered maybe I’d look alright if I just kept skipping dinner and I wanted to know why I couldn’t be a little taller, a little thinner, a little better. Why I couldn’t have a sharper nose, why I couldn’t have nicer toes, I felt my reflection burn holes into my skin like I owed it something. Better thighs, less fries, a flatter stomach, more push ups, a haircut maybe.

I flipped through magazines wondering how someone could walk in heels that tall and manage not to fall; I knew I wouldn’t last thirty seconds. Was it my feet?

Every day I woke up praying for a different face, a better body, promising myself the less I ate the more I’d be like somebody else. I cried myself to sleep hoping  my eyes would wash away my very existence, eliminate my presence entirely. I didn’t want to wake up and look at another article promising lies, I was sick of everyone who told me time heals everything because it had been weeks, I was sick of being told to let it go and to forget what people said, why couldn’t anyone understand that to drown the thoughts in my head, I had to go under water, and I didn’t know how to swim.

I wanted to punch that glassy reflection I was forced to see every day, I wanted it to break in every fucking way it possibly could, I wanted it to burn along with all the judgmental stares, the ‘oh-have-you-put-on-weight’ kind of glares, I wanted to shatter my own vision in hopes that no one could ever see me again.

But life doesn’t work that way.

I’m writing down my misery to a stranger, because I can’t talk without saying “sorry” for saying a sentence that seemed too long, because I’m not really sure where I’m from, I have no idea where I belong, and where I want to go, all I’d want you to know is that your appearance doesn’t define your worth, that maybe life only gets worse.

And I understand why people don’t practice what they preach. Why people with eating disorders tell you to eat that burger, that it’s fine if it’s hard to be strong but eventually, all they want is for you to never land where they’ve reached.

Because all unhappy people have a tale to tell, a story they want you to learn from rather than live, a story they wish someone would have told them.

Love,
Nobody significant.

 

 

Tomorrow

I wonder what it would be like to have a look into the future and see where I’d be. To know the people who left me and the people who stayed. To know whether I’d have a pixie cut or hair long enough to braid. Whether I’d still be in touch with those who made me happy, I wonder if they’d still make me happy then. Whether I’d start speaking to everyone who I lost again, whether I’d be shy like I’d always been or a little too outspoken. I wonder whether I’d finally write all those poems I left unwritten.

I wonder about the house I’d live in. Whether it would have flowers that creep up whitewashed walls, or paint that curls and unfurls itself like a mouth to speak of the times these walls fell weak to the shouts of a house that would never come to be a home. Whether the shelves would have books on them or forgotten crumbs and half empty bottles of rum. I wonder when I walk through that door would I inhale wild rose fumes from candles I burnt too long in rooms I didn’t really want to step into. Or whether I’d exhale cigarette smoke with a little bit of burning hope trying to figure what it really is to be alive, trying to figure out if my life was more than just the photographs saved on my hard drive.

I wonder if I’d still like holding hands as much as I do now, it lets me believe that no matter how short life seems, there’s always something you can grab on to. I pray that every touch of every leaf and every bird and every curve remains embedded in the soles of my shoes if I ever tend to lose my memory I want to know that I’d still have a story to fall back to.  I wonder if I’d live in New York City, a place that would stay up with me on nights I can’t force myself to shut my eyes, or in a place so quiet that the chaos in my mind would ring louder than the few syllables of life that I’d manage to find.

I want to believe that the tide of hope I’m sailing on, won’t rise high enough to collapse with the break of another  dawn, I want to believe that I won’t collapse along with it. I wonder if I’ll ever touch the corners of the world enough to know exactly how big dreams can be, to memorize the way the sun melts into the sea, to prove the people who say our hearts are the size of a fist wrong, they are entire god damn homes where people belong, where people come from.

I want so much of the future, I wonder sometimes if fortune tellers can see the lines in my palm bounce off my hand and into the cracks on the ground to know exactly twenty years from now where the heels of my boots will be found. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to discover a time machine behind a screen in an attic. To click a big red button that clearly says “no” and to know of all the secrets the future holds between its fingers. But – now that I think of it, maybe I want time to linger just a little longer. Perhaps right now, right here, is brighter than tomorrow, because maybe when we think we’re waking up from a nightmare, we’ll wake up into one.

 

A Letter to the World

Dear world, I liked you better when you were not materialistic. I liked you better when I could see the stars outside my window. I liked you better when the roof and walls that surrounded me felt like “home” and not like empty structures of nothingness. I liked you better when things were good. But tell me, aren’t things good now, too? Yes, yes, they are. Are they good for me? Not as much.

I tried to accept what you forced me to take, but then, my skeleton of bones started crumpling to a hollow figure, just another shadow. And, believe me, I used to blend with the walls quite perfectly but I did not like to flee when I saw the people I used to love. I did not like the way they looked at me with distate and disgust. Oh, world, was it my fault for not being good enough? Was it my fault for not having the face you see in magazines? What is my fault for not having the figure a model possesses?

I was a personality between clones but why didn’t other people see that? Why did no one give any significance to what I could do, rather than what I looked like? A wise man once said, “Looks are deceiving”. So, here I am, an assumed failure. Drowning in the deep abyss of loneliness. Except, what sort of loneliness is this? I’m sorry to burst your bubble, world, but hey, loneliness is not endured when you have no one around. Loneliness is not the absence of people, it’s the absence of the ability to communicate with them.

Tell me, what is one supposed to do when everything he touches turns to ash and dust? What is one supposed to do when things start fading? When the colour drains out of your life? When…life drains you of colour. Weren’t we taught to leave and forget things if they didn’t work out for us? Well hey, world, you didn’t work out for me. So, here’s a letter smudged with ink and a few tears, a little appreciation for those who silenced my demons.

Firstly, I want to thank the man at the bus stop whose name I am yet to know, whose name I might never know, for smiling at me everyday. For making me realize that you don’t need the world falling at your feet to be happy, for making me realize that a heartfelt gesture, a simple greeting, acknowledgement of your existence, a little attention, sometimes, that’s all you need.

Then, I’d like to say “hello” to the kids who only got goodbyes. Let me tell you lot, I notice you with your books in the hallways, your poetry, art, photographs and mixtapes. You guys are a rare few this world would be unfortunate to lose. So, greetings to the most happily damaged people I have ever come across.

Here’s to the broken hearted, who gave love and never got it back. For those who weaved words together for the sake of a simple nod, maybe a handsake, or perhaps a hello, and never got one. Keep in mind, “never” doesn’t last forever, because forever doesn’t exist.

For the people who talk to the air and trees, for the people who paint what they think rather than what they see, for the people who are left unacknowledged, this is for you. To show you that somewhere, someone out there cared for you, too.

Lastly, the girl with the headphones on with no music playing, the girl with her head resting on the window pane, the girl who cried every night for the people she couldn’t keep and the things she couldn’t treasure, the girl who gave me a pencil during class, two weeks and three days back at 1:48 PM, you are beautiful. I would not like for you to ever think otherwise.

And a piece of advice to you, world, don’t mess with these people. They are not the stereotypes, they are the exceptions. They are the heart and soul of this world. And today, this world loses a fragment of it’s soul. Goodnight, for a night that will never end, for eyes that will never see again, for a heart that will never beat again, but for a soul that will continue to linger. Dear world, you will not be missed. And neither will I. And perhaps that’s all we have had in common.

Author’s Note- Trying out a few different things. 

What if I told you

What if I told you that
A game of cards isn’t the only thing you’ll lose, that teenage won’t be what you’ve dreamt of, that someday all the people who promised they’d stay are going to walk out on you, that someday the person you trust most will deceive you, that promises simply aren’t kept, that depression and sickness will become a “fashion statement”

What if I told you that You will become family to strangers, that there will be days you will be full of feelings but drained of life, that you will feel lonely in a room full of people, that you will make the same mistake not twice but thrice, and sometimes you still won’t learn, that you will give people all of you with nothing in return, that you will love people and they will shatter you

What if I told you that The one person whose contact you’ve scrolled by most without ever calling will try and hold you together when you’re most broken? That the people you never expected to say “hi” to are going to fix you, that you will find you have more in common with those you didn’t bother looking at than those who you’ve spent your life with, that you will put up walls around you because of all the times you’ve been hurt

What if I told you that Becoming a “Doctor” won’t be that tough, it’ll be tougher to be yourself, that in the end, you are all you’ll ever have, that you shouldn’t try making everyone happy and focus more on being happy, that if you don’t, you will miss yourself more than you would have ever missed anyone, that you will plan vacations to hide from your problems, that you will read books to get away from your own life and try living somebody else’s

What if I told you that Someday someone’s going to come along and put your pieces back together, that someday things will be a lot better, that somebody will climb over your walls and get to your heart, that they will help you create a life you won’t have to run away from, that sometimes “home” is not a house, that sometimes “home” is a person. But darling, if I told you…then how would you learn?

Phonecalls

In English class, you asked me for permission to hear my voice over a cord
I scribbled digits on a crumpled chit and dropped it on your desk
You told me you were going to call today
At 5.02
and from 4.58 I sat with my phone in hand staring at the lockscreen
wondering what I was to say
To a face I loved for the emotions buried beneath every bend
And for the secrets hidden amid the mists of those minty breaths
A thousand letters to your lips I would send
If i was able to do more with my mouth than just stutter
And utter
And mutter
Words and sentences
If only holding your hand was as easy as holding your gaze…not that I can
for more than 3 seconds but even three seconds of feeling the lines in your hands
Align against the ones in my palms
Like constellations
Makes the galaxies inside of me collide
I wondered what I would talk to you about
Maybe the-
The phone rang once,
I saw your name on the caller id,
And my heartbeat almost stopped
Stopped as it rang twice
Stopped like a clock whose battery wore out
Stopped like a car in front of a child
Stopped
Thrice
And I thought of all the things I could say to you
All the things I could ask you
Not your mom’s name or your birthday
Not the perfume you use or your favorite movie
No, I wanted to know how you called your mom’s name
I wanted to know whether you called her mom, or mum, or maa, or mumma
I wanted to ask you of all the gifts you wanted but never got
I dont want to know the brand of perfume you use
I wanted to know of the scent in the crook of your neck
I wanted to ask you how you connected to your favorite movie and exactly why did it touch your heart
It rang for the fourth time
I didn’t want to know how many days a year you skipped school
I wanted to know why you didnt feel like going
I wanted to know not of all the things that made you strong
But of the things that made you weak
I didn’t wanna ask you about the weather
I wanted to talk to you about the stars and I wanted to know whether you liked spring more or summer
I wanted to know all the secrets you told your mother
I snapped out of my thoughts and wondered if your life was as bright as your eyes
Then with shaking fingertips
I answered your call with one of my “I-love-his-voice” kind of smiles
And after another staggered heartbeat or so
I managed to stutter a barely audible “hello”.

Author’s Note- A rushed post. Feedback is appreciated. Thank you. 🙂