I am woman, hear me eat carbs (confessions of a formerly thin, now less thin woman)

(Dear reader: you will see why this is relevant to Ramallah, I promise. Be patient with me...)

I was always really thin growing up. Like, sickly thin, even though I regularly ate 2 lbs of roast beef in one sitting (true story, ask my mom), or would put Dinner 2 by my bed so when I woke up ravenous in the middle of the night I'd have something to eat. I happily proceeded along this way through high school, never even really noting what food I put in my mouth beyond the need for more of it. I was marginally sporty (marginally), but gave up any and all sports once I moved to France my Junior year and took up smoking, drinking and all around hoopalala-ing. Still, the thinness continued.

College I entered as a rail and left..less rail-ish, but still squarely in the 'thin' bucket. I dabbled in exercise in college, but mostly went to the gym, wandered aimlessly around, ran on the treadmill for 10 minutes and called it a day. I remember fondly my Sophomore year boyfriend going to the gym with me and telling me after that all I did was check out other chicks--he was totally right. I still find serious female workouts fascinating. Where do people get all that energy? Don't they want to eat pie instead??

After college, I moved to Morocco. This is what I think about Morocco: it saved my soul but ruined my body. I gained 35 pounds in the 9 months I spent there. Eating was a large, nay, huge part of my cultural integration, as well as a diplomatic necessity when you spend 3 months going from village to village asking women why they want to read- digging into a tagine together is the Moroccan equivalent of a drink at the bar to help break the ice. I remember coming back and none of my clothes fit, but I was unemployed and broke, so I just wore a lot of stuff sort of layered over each other so the inability to zip or button wouldn't show. Eventually most of the weight dropped off, as I wasn't consuming 5000 delicious Moroccan calories a day (sadly), but my body had changed. I basically think of it as, I had a Moroccan baby.

The thing is, and this is a generalization, admittedly, but I think a pretty accurate one, being thin in the Arab world is not good. They like their women...womanly. I knew one Peace Corps Volunteer in Morocco whose village gathered for a weekly weigh-in, and if she had gained weight there was much ululation and of course, celebratory eating. And given, Morocco is not Palestine, Morocco is more like the Alabama to Palestine's New York, however the women here pride themselves on their more curvy shapes, though they certainly are no match for the zaftig pride of the Moroccan lady. And I have to say, there is just nothing hotter than seeing a curvy lady dancing and shaking it to some Arabic pop. Nothing. I'll see your Megan Fox and raise you Haifa Wehbe, Nancy Ajram, or any other sultry Arab pop star. I win.

I've never been one to give a fig about how I look...sometimes I look down at my thighs and remember fondly when they were gams and not yams, but mostly I really can't be bothered. It's nice to feel fit, and most clothing is meant for women that look like coat hangers, but the energy it would take to really be disciplined about food, all that deprivation and endless hours in the Soviet-style gym I reluctantly go to...just thinking about it exhausts me. I look at the women here, how truly beautiful they are, and am inspired.

And some may say, well don't you want to be in shape? What about your health? What about boys, they want women that look at 30 like they did at 18! Two responses: I'm not advocating obesity...just a more relaxed attitude. If you looked at me, there's no way you would ever think I was fat. But I'm sure not on the elliptical and eating scrambled egg whites every day. Salad for lunch every day...um, are you a rabbit? As for men, I've never encountered a guy who actually cared that much. And would absolutely never date someone who did.

As an end to this somewhat rambling post, allow me a brief story: I was eating in Morocco with a family I ate with often. We were, all 10 of us, huddled around a big bowl of couscous, munching away together in silence on spoonful, or handful, of deliciousness after deliciousness. After a few minutes the men pulled away, back to their couches and television. Us women, we just kept on going until it was done. How opposite is that of America?? And how awesome.

I was so happy. Just thinking about those times makes me tear up as a write this. Thanks, Arabia--I honor you with my insatiable appetite. Among other things.