It’s 2012!
Category: The Everyday
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Resolutions v.2012 (I intend to keep)
Intended to do a post running through my resolutions for 2011, and if I’ve kept them. But archives tell me that I ‘kept private’ most of them, except for one: be nice to people and babies.
Well ok, besides the occasional urge to eat them up (affectionately of course), I’m mostly (and freakishly) nice to babies. About the people.. I haven’t killed any so yay.
ALRIGHT, SO. Resolutions du 2012
1.
Be nice to all people – even the annoying, the fat, the ignorant, those oblivious to proper usage of grammar, and of course babies.
2.
FIND A JOB. so i can fund my increasingly unsustainable lifestyle without feeling guilty.
3.
Volunteer. With kids or dogs. Maybe old folks.
4.
Wean off the Mugs. Because we spend virtually all our time together, and because next year everyone will be busy or overseas. Our separation will either be sudden and frightful, or – if we work on being independent – exciting.
5.
A-Z food trail.
I’ve done Apple Pie a la mode, courtesy of Geegee. Next, B. Any suggestions?
6.
WRITE. please. this needs to be done. Okay and read, though that I’ve been doing. Basically to strengthen them neuron networks while I still have the time and energy.
ALSO to start reading up on science so I can be awesome and all-rounded.
7.
Stop trying to get a tan.
I’m always between OKAY LET’S GET A TAN AND LOOK LIKE A MALIBU BEACH BABE, or OMGATZ I’M NOT THE CAST OF JERSEY SHORE IMMA GET SKIN CANCER. So after some intense tanning early this year, I discovered I’ve developed a whole score of fresh moles on my arm. Celine says that’s dangerous – then again she’s hypochondriac.
ANYWAYS, my natural shade is pretty light so let’s just keep it at that instead of messing around with color.
8.
Grow my bangs out. Because I’m not 5-years-old anymore (after about 13 years stuck at that age, yeah). Although I stand by my belief that bangs are adorable on me kthnx.
9.
REGULATE MY BOWELS.
10.
I’ll come back with a good one.
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Strange starts young.
Talking to Celine triggered off memories of my childhood. I realize I’ve been strange and somewhat of a genius from a young age.
So now Math is over (taking my life away with it) as is International History, for stress/exhuastion relieving purposes, I’ll indulge a little by giving you a Bildungsroman you’re probably are not interested in anyway. Too late you’re trapped my words are holding a strange power over you. Read on.
Alright to begin you need a little context. I attended Rosyth Childcare in my earlier years – a relatively advanced nursery, slightly old in a posh way. What hasn’t changed is that I was cute back then. What has is that I was a lot, a lot less scary.
In fact I was the most harmless little creature you would ever come across. Pigtails and bangs and a stubborn habit of tip-toeing. Oh right, and I was VERY. VERY QUIET. Most teachers loved me because I was a silent but obedient little spazz, and also I was perpetually scared of everything which they probably found sadistically adorable.
Although it might also have been after that time my mom forced me into a BRIGHT PINK, HALF POLKA-DOTTED HALF STRIPED STRING BIKINI for swim class. It amused my teacher so much she made me parade around to show EVERY. SINGLE. CLASS. Like, literally we went outside each class and she’s laughs maniacally and says LOOK LOOK AT MY SKANKY LITTLE CHILD. This fully explains my exhibitionist tendencies now. DO NOT MAKE YOUR FIVE YEAR OLD WALK AROUND IN A STRING BIKINI. IT IS A GIVEN THAT SHE WOULD BE SCARRED, OR AT LEAST CATCH A COLD. That aside.
I was so harmless, in fact, that I became the target of bullying by this girl – whom forever I will not forget (and I mean seriously, I told myself explicitly always to remember her so when I’m grown-up and awesome I can laugh at her hundred pound weight gain and degeneration). So anyway, this girl’s name was – is – CASSANDRA. For a visual stimulant, picture an exceptionally nasty looking bulldog with a bob haircut. Yeah, you got it. That’s Cassandra.
When behind her in the morning assembly line doing the daily Macarena routine, she turned around and said in a bitchy way as a little bitch like her would: (THIS WAS MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH A BITCHY TONE K) Can you STOP blowing on my hair? I wasn’t. I was breathing.
SHE WANTED ME TO STOP BREATHING.
I have no idea why that one incident stuck with me, but she bullied me for the longest time possible (which I think meant about a couple of months). My mom had to come to school and point an umbrella menacingly at her to make her quit it. She didn’t.
Alright so you have to remember that I was a child with an extremely, extremely fertile imagination. It was also incredibly easy to reconcile fantasy with reality back then. The thing was I had TEN imaginary siblings (oh yeah I was sisterless back then), each having unique personalities and with whom I have vivid interaction with – ok in my fantasy but still. Whenever I got bullied by Bulldog Cassandra, I’ll be in the toilet after that telling my imaginary friends about it and pretending they can somehow right things or at least exact revenge.
YEAH OK? I WAS WEIRD.
Then my mom decided to transfer me to PAP for kindergarten, because it was convenient and Rosyth was out of the way (or maybe they heard me talking to self in the toilet one too many times and booted me out on grounds of insanity). I’m not sure how lucid five year old thoughts actually are, but mine were pretty damn articulate. I had lengthy internal monologues about how I’m to make sure I never, EVER get bullied again (and that I’d be the bully if I had to), and how I’ll entrench my dominance first straight and RULE THE ENTIRE PLACE. I know right.
Funny thing was, it worked. Partly it was because Rosyth prepared me well academically. But mainly because I was precocious and even as a kid my genius bits couldn’t help but surface. That was probably what I’d call the volta of my life, the social awakening, the maturation, my emergence from the crysalis. It was as if I suddenly understood the mechanisms of human relation and hierarchy, and also slowly recognized that I was different and special and intelligent and probably ten times better than most of the other dumb kids and a million of Dogface Cassandra.
It was pretty scary, but it was like I knew all the tricks to manipulating all the kids around me. I knew what to say or act to make them feel guilty or give in to what I wanted – and I mean I did all these consciously. Like, I KNEW doing that would make her worry or scared and I’d exploit all these nuances I gleaned to achieve my own ends. I know, I know. So through all my arm-twisting I broke the rules and allowed myself to be Lala in the Teletubbies Game even though the Club rules explicitly stated that I couldn’t be the Oldest Sister in Family Game if I were Lala.
Oh and also I used homework answers (mine were always right) as bribes for favors. Such as exchanging lunch break duty days so I get extra curry puffs (they were great) and skipped green bean soup (they were not).
Basically, throughout kindergarten I was a tyrant. Except no one knew because I did it in such subtle and implicit ways they just thought it was an obligation to make me happy.
Besides being adept at social manipulation I was also revolutionary. Currently I’m pretty intolerant of feminists because they’re usually PMSing, bra-burning, unreasonable women with shriek-y voices and un-shaved armpits, but back then I went through a phase where I was like WHY SHOULD I WEAR SKIRTS? WHY MUST I? I WANT TO WEAR PANTS LIKE BOYS ALL THE TIME. So I straight out refused to wear skirts. For about three years actually. Except for school. But I’m digressing.
After the first year, everyone pretty much got used to the idea that I’m their intellectual and emotional superior (I was), so I could relax all my scary child tac-tics. It was throughout that year that in addition to my discovery of how freaking easy it is to manipulate people, I decided that my X-Men powers of mind control can be used to serve different purposes – to be a total boss and work magic on everyone shamelessly so you’ll always have your way, or to use it for the good and only for the good of people you love.
The path I chose is obvious. RIGHT? I mean I’m totally peace-loving and benign right now.
Yeah. Mostly it was because of friends. I found friends I didn’t need to manipulate to be happy around, both in primary and secondary school. It was borne out of the need for protection and defense (from Dogface Cassandra), but I quickly found out I didn’t need it because a large majority of my circle are of people who are just NICE. I haven’t exercised my powers to gain personal benefits since, and I don’t think I can/know how. Also, right now I have no idea what point I’ve been trying to make all along.
I started because I thought some bits here and there were bound to make you think I’m freakier than I already am, which made for an excellent update post. But now I’m just revealing how much of a genius/altruistic person I am – which most people already know anyway.
Hm.
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tbh.
Yes, it’s true.
I like girls.
edit: tbh meaning tryna be humorous because I WUZ KIDDING and also because blog hits doubled since i left i think most of you are silently speculating about me now.
at first it was amusing when i went around asking people ‘would you believe if i told you i were gay?’ in my most serious voice and mostly without hesitation or surprise people accepted it.
it’s both heartening, slightly amusing, and now mildly worrying.
so ok NO. this is just another one of my social experiments. GLORIA you should stop getting me excited over retarded ideas knowing full well it’ll lead to social awkwardness just because ‘it was funnayyye’.
KTHNX EVERYONE I AM GOING OFF TO DROOL AT ORLANDO BLOOM TO AFFIRM MY SEXUALITY BYE.
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BRACES.
YES.
I NOW LOOK AND SOUND LIKE A RETARD ^ (more than I usually do anyways).
Besides the existential crisis I had at Nex after buying a hell lot of food and not being able to eat them despite forcing it down my throat, and also the disgusting lisp I’ve developed, I’m fine.
I think.
Not really.
I CAN’T EAT. WHAT IS LIFE.
My post-braces menu consists of a shit load of milk based beverage, ONE MAEFFING FRIED CHICKEN I SHOVED DOWN DEFYING ALL DENTAL LOGIC, one bite of a german sausage, tau huey (acceptable), soup (not), and half a bowl of chocolate oatmeal which frankly tastes like what I imagine Willy Wonka’s puke to be (i.e not bad tasting but still really gross).
HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS? I have an additional lingual arch, I’m not sure how common it is, but anyway it’s this plastic tray that rests on the roof of your mouth. It takes away 50% of taste in everything I eat, and makes me vocally defunct.
I can’t really pronounce -tion, or Rs or Ss. Actually everything I say just sounds really dumb now. Previously I could say really dumb stuff and.. sort of get away with it because I say it loud and proud. THIS WILL NO LONGER WORK.
WHAT IF LIFE WHAT IS LIFE. I’m regretting it slightly also because I miss my deformed bunny/canine teeth which c’mon la is frankly quite adorable right. OK NO. I’m just going through a phase CAN’T EAT CAN’T TALK without sounding like a ‘tard. It is very challenging for me to think of a me who can’t talk nor eat it’s just weird because that’s basically all I do most of the time.
ALSO PRELIMS IN LESS THAN A WEEK HOHO. KILL ME NOW BYE.
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why Lord of the Flies is a classic.
‘Why do you hate me?’
For the longest time possible, I thought LOTF was a parody of lord of the rings… because I’m just a loser like that. When I realized that it isn’t – and furthermore has been compared to the Catcher in the Rye (which I love), I decided to read it. That I finally did. IT WAS BRILLIANT.
I’ve loved books because they were really wise, or had a great plot, or cool gimmicks, or pretty language. LOTF was just purely, simply, well-written. It captured the essence I was hoping to find in The Hunger Games (which was disappointing). Also curious is that a LOTF-inspired AC play I watched (before reading) helped me appreciate the reading process a lot; at the same time the play seems much better in hindsight after having read it.
Anyway. This is the first novel since Life of Pi that’s succeeded in sticking with me throughout the Day After Read (I have a poor attention span). Kept replaying my favourite scenes and images, and since I’m so distracted why not vent it all here? Of course when I fail my As y’all can just refer me back to this page as evidence of my academic inertia. But whatever for now la hor.
Best moments in LOTF (WARNING: THERE ARE MANY. WARNING #2: SPOILERS.)
Piggy’s ostracism. I love the way Piggy was already marginalised in the beginning, hinting at the shadow of cruelty inherent in all mankind. Except here it’s just emotional bullying; an acceptable, subtle form of torture. Watch out for what happens later.
I love Jake and the choir’s entry. All black robes and caps with matching badges and straight rows – already intimidating but still familiar (okay fine I was thinking death eaters). It’s a parallel to their tribe later on (exciting stuff), which I find to be genius. All structure and order and uniform, except now they’re identified – which makes all the world of difference.
As a tribe they were equally structured – keeping rhythms with drums and using the same weapons, and the hauntingly organized manner they searched for Ralph with ululations. Except this time, they have war paint on. The war paint serves as a mask of anonymity, a heavy symbol in LOTF (also extensively explored online: Google deindividuation).
Essentially, Golding is saying that civilisation is a bunch of labelled barbarians. The only thing keeping us from tearing at each other’s intestines with our bare teeth is the fact that we’re given an identity. Our age, race, nationality, class, right down to our identification numbers. We become an accounted for member of society and therefore adhere to social conduct. That’s basically the only reason why we’re not savages. But back to the book.
There were a few couple of scenes leading to the final loss of humanity, and each were so well sculpted. Jake’s first encounter with the pig. He was appointed a hunter, he had the knife, was supposed to kill, but didn’t. Civilisation and it’s rules were ingrained in him. But he says – I think under embarrassment – ‘next time, I will do it’ with an almost painful determination. He becomes obsessed with hunting and once he made his first kill it was all he wanted to do after.
Roger’s scene with the little ones. Roger felt the sudden desire to hit the young un with stones, but only dared to throw around the boy. I particularly loved the line ‘Here, invisible yet strong, was the taboo of old life. Round the squatting child was the protection of parents and school and the policemen and the law.’ But they were on an uninhabited island. I loved how the power of rules drilled into us can be restricting even when we know, logically, there are no consequences to it. Also I loved how it wasn’t compassion or propriety that kept Roger from hurting another, but just the concept of a distant rule he was once made to follow.
Early in the novel before the dark stuff begins, Ralph, Jake and Simon (they’re all under 13) explored the island for a bit. At this point they were full of hope and camaraderie and youthful foolishness, totally oblivious of what’s about to happen.Ralph would, in a few weeks, reminisce about these few hours as a ‘brighter childhood’. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s exact truthfulness makes it beautiful. Halfway into the plot I felt myself looking back at it as precisely that. A brighter childhood. Which makes my recalling of my own brighter childhood so much less silly (to me at least).
One of my favourite scenes tied to this brighter childhood is that of the mirage. Ohmygoshitisso. I reread this bit of description over and over trying to picture it. (alright just spent ages Googling the quote):
“Strange things happened at midday. The glittering sea rose up, moved apart in planes of blatant impossibility; the coral reef and the few, stunted palms that clung to the more elevated parts would float up into the sky, would quiver, be plucked apart, run like rain-drops on a wire or be repeated as in an odd succession of mirrors. Sometimes land loomed where there was no land and flickered out like a bubble as the children watched.”Throughout the novel you learn that the mirage takes away reason and reality, and kind of distorts their view, literally and metaphorically, into viewing rescue as a possibility.
One of the classic scenes of LOTF, and probably what you’d call a climax, is when Simon spirals into madness. Spiralling into madness is a phrase I will never escape from after taking Paper 1 lit. The insanity was reminiscent of when I went through the Bell Jar. I FELT LIKE I WAS GOING INSANE. Talking to an inanimate, grinning, macabre skull on the stick that represent the whole truth… HEARING the whole truth from the mouth of this calm skull – it was pretty traumatising. I didn’t even realize Simon was going mad… I thought I was.
Yeah anyway, Simon – the one who first isolates himself from the community, and who first realized many truths (of human nature, of the true identity of the ‘beast’), was killed. THE KILLING SCENE. THE DANCE. Another one of Golding’s beautiful, beautiful creations. The chant of ‘kill the beast! slit it’s throat! and something! i forgot!’ together as a tribe (even Ralph, Piggy, Samneric who embodied the remaining vestiges of civilised humanity) until they became one sole force with the single intent of killing ‘the beast’ which they knew, somewhere, wasn’t the beast but one of them some time ago.
The next day no one would admit they had murdered Simon.
Piggy’s head got smashed (and his brains spilt all over and dyed the tides pink and was washed away), together with the conch shell he was holding. The conch shell, one of the greatest literary symbols I can think of in my limited literary knowledge besides the red hunting hat in Catcher (the catcher – or preserver of innocent childhood – wore the hat. It was held by Holden until he transferred the responsibility/the hat to his sister, who later reconciled Holden’s desire to keep a child’s purity with his adolescence).
The thing is, the conch shell was just a random one picked up by Ralph. But the power he and the other boys invested into this shell made it incredible. They blew on to it to call for assemblies, held on to it until it was bleached from creamy pink to translucent, and constantly looked upon it with ‘revered affection’. At the same time they recognized how silly it was since ‘he was the one who picked it up from the beach’. Jack’s lot later rejects the conch’s authority.
The conch probably represents civilisation in its ability to call for order and meetings where decisions were made. Only those who held the conch were allowed to speak. What is amazing about this symbol is that its power comes from human; it is wholly constructed by men. When it shattered into a million bright pieces it becomes nothing. It was nothing to start with, and therefore HAD to break when the concept of civilisation was rejected by majority in the island. ISN’T THAT JUST. GENIUS.
The last scene. Possibly my favourite scene of all because it’s so hauntingly, vividly beautiful and wouldn’t stop playing in my head like the best nightmare ever. Ralph is still struggling to keep civil. The tribe is hunting him down for murder, they chase and chase and there was no escape, Ralph trips and rolls out into the beach.
And then.
It’s over. He meets civilisation – in fact, an authority. An officer is there and (THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART OF THE ENTIRE NOVEL) – as if Golding has complete mastery over my imagination – all the images in my mind transform. Throughout the novel I’ve forgotten they were children. They became ageless and half-beast – savages. When Ralph rolls over there was a blur and, as if tumbling out of a bad dream, everything became bright and real, all the characters (GOLDING WRITES SO WELL) became young, young children.
The officer has NO IDEA what had been going on and assume they were just playing war. He asked how many has died (jokingly I think) and in an instant, all the gory and traumatic death, out of (the now very infantile) Ralph’s mouth: ‘only two’, seems childish and almost insignificant. All the children start crying. The aged seven kid before who had been reciting his name and address over and over in the beginning cannot remember how the hell to start his name. CRYING. I picture of a bunch of tiny emaciated kids with paint streaked across their face bawling like babies. The officers think they’re just scared kids.
And here, as sudden and sublime as when everything became bright and clear and un-scary, it starts to dawn on you exactly HOW FRIGHTENING IT IS THAN BEFORE (even the chasing/killing part). Yes, the children were scared, but not for reasons he’d guess. It’s fear for ‘the end of innocence’ and the ‘darkness of men’s heart’. And it is this, bringing the knowledge of humanity’s decay from an island of surreal savagery, into a place of civilisation and reality – by thirteen year olds – that is the most insanely frightening truth of all.
It sounds kind of lame when I try to explain it, but I just had to. I love it. Never had so many lines and scenes in a single novel hit me and stay with me like that. I don’t know why but now I kind of sound like a Britney song. Maybe, tired. Also angry at self because I have wasted a whole lot of time. Past/present tense prolly warped in the whole post but I hit my head against the pool wall today and therefore is justified in speaking crazy. Thank you bye FML.
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What we are actually hating.
the one thing about us humans is that we are all, inadvertently, selfish. this does not refer only to the motive behind malicious actions, but even those that appear altruistic.
it’s like this: even when we truly, wholly want to do good – and a large part of us does it for the benefit of others – the key spur lies in our subconscious desire for the self-satisfaction (and subsequent self-assurance of our character) that comes WITH doing good. ultimately, and inevitably, it’s all about us. (i know i sound like ris low here, but in fact she is a perfect analogy for my case: if you strip one of all her secondary intelligences and social awareness [you get a ris low], she would very confidently tell you that ‘it’s all about me’.)
when it comes right down to it, it is. EVERYTHING we do is about us. and there’s nothing wrong with that. it’s nature; we are built this way. our primal brothers were concerned mainly for survival, and the sense of community came about only when we started establishing relationships and realizing that if another were to be hurt, we will somehow be affected in the long run. SO YES. all about us, and it’s fine. my point for this post is something else about selfishness entirely, but i just had to clarify the above so we can see selfishness as just a fundamental part of ourselves, not to be taken as a negative thing or whatever. what i do want to talk about: the irrational hatred towards another.
why do we sometimes, for no seeming reason, dislike another? if you assume the above theory that all our reactions are engendered by deep selfishness, it’s illogical that we as humans can hate another who has done almost nothing to threaten our position. it is understandable if you harbour hatred for someone who scribbled saucy untruths about your sex life all over school desks, or another who took your lime popsicle from the canteen uncle and made you cry for one whole traumatic hour (which was what totally happened to me. i still hate her. ANYWAYS.). in other words, DIRECT attacks at your well-being.
back to those people you just hate for no reason. to properly examine this i shall use an allegory that is common to all girls:
you hate a ‘slut’. she has done nothing to you. factually, she has not even spoken to you, and neither you to her. you hate her because she plays with boys and boys are enamoured by her. you find her behaviour absolutely disgusting. but why, it has nothing to do with you. you don’t know the boys she constantly leeches on. in entirety, her behaviour has no impact on your life at all.
this will be your justification: that her skanky behaviour goes against your principles and moral ideals and so it offends you to have even the knowledge of her doing all these stuff. that’s just absolute bullshit. you might also want to be brutally honest with yourself and say it’s because you’re jealous and inherently you would love to be a slutty slut with boys hanging on to your slut self. that is close, but it’s much more than that.
to reiterate, all of our conscious responses arise from self-serving thoughts. here, it roots from our insecurities. actually, so many disorders have originate from insecurity, but yes. back to the slut allegory.
here you hate the slut because you are either subconsciously aware that you are lacking (of the slut factor) and aspire to be one, or you see much of yourself in the slut, and it’s something you are not proud of. the slut becomes not simply a person whose actions offend your moral high ground, but is actually either a hugeass representation of your inadequacies, or a hugeass manifestation of the faults you are deadly fearful others might see in you.
yes. your. own. freaking. inadequacies. and. faults. the hatred is then driven by your insecurities surrounding them. you don’t want anyone to know you’re lacking or flawed, and therefore make a deliberate effort to disassociate yourself from said representation/manifestation. the greatest way you know to distance yourself from it is to hate on it, thus drawing the boldest of all contrast between you and It (it being the slut here la) and making yourself believe you are NOTHING like them (denial). it all arises from a deep seated fear that someone might one day draw a parallel between you and the slut, and realize either that you’re not as good as the slut (and judge you for that) or that you are actually a slut (and judge you for that).
the greater your insecurity, the more faults and and gaps you notice in yourself, the more you are able to pick out people with similar traits, who become physical demonstrations of these flaws of yours, and the more vastly and intensely you hate.
so, at the end of the day, it’s not the slut you’re hating. it’s yourself. or at least, what you perceive in yourself as undesirable to society.
this is the truth, for some people at least. in fact, i catch myself committing this insecure hate thing sometimes. why am i particularly annoyed by whimsical-elusive-butterflies?, i ask myself. do i deep down really want to be a mystery? my blog archive tells me that YES. when i am feeling exceptionally self-pitying i actually do:
https://dopaminedaze.wordpress.com/2010/01/20/reinventez/
at the end of the day i realized my mistake and ended with a full embracing of myself like a predictable movie would. really, i’m just too well-adjusted for my own good and can never really be emotionally damaged (even though i damaging another emotionally is very probable). it will happen again, of course, this perpetual cycle of insecurity, denial, projection and hatred, as it will to everyone but it helps if you think more about yourself and why you do certain things though, it really does.
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Nice Note Guy & Crispy Chicken
in the library today, the guy beside me wrote me a note.
as he was leaving, he kind of bent down to pick the note up (??) and placed it on my table and walked away. the note, to summarize, wished me luck for As. he was apparently also from Hwachong (i think he’s a graduate). it was heartening.. VERY, actually; i was dying away inside with every vector i had to intersect, and to have someone tell you he understands how shitty it is and assure you that it’ll turn out fine – it gives you the happy gotong-royong (i got this from SEAHistory HAH.) feel. besides, it’s always nice to have a random stranger show that he or she cares.
i was revelling in this sporadic act of kindness and it could have ended really nicely BUT this is not Chicken Soup for Your Mugger Soul so unfortunately we didn’t just float away in happy oblivion. he came back after awhile with a friend and sat a little way off, forcing me to contemplate the different approaches i had to take in this inconclusive encounter with Nice Note Guy. there and then i had a mini panic attack. what do i do to maintain this a comfortably distanced interaction with just altruism on his side and gratefulness on mine, without having to go through the cripplingly awkward formalities when stranger meets stranger?
I KNOW THIS MAKES ME SOUND SOCIALLY INEPT, because the polite thing would be to smile.. or something. (aside: i did a quick psychoanalytical breakdown of my mental disorientation. why the hell am i acting like i’m socially awkward when i am usually not? then i realized, i’m only adept at receiving negative social judgement – wholly due to my tendency to be a total retard in every possible social scene. i’m used to a specific trend of treatment, so when it comes to NICE, NORMAL, FRIENDLY socially things like this, my acutely honed social skills would have prepared me for nilch. in other words, i’m just really good at social damage control [because it is given that i would have done something dumb], but have no idea how to act when someone treats me NOT as a spazz. /end sad revelation of sad spastic self)
back to the situation of many choices which may or may not ruin this beautiful act of altruism. these were my choices and the projected subsequent consequences:
a) as i leave, i say to him ‘thanks for the note’. (BUT WHEN DO I SAY IT? LIKE BESIDE HIM? OR WHAT IF HE’S NOT LOOKING AT ME THEN DO I TAP HIS SHOULDERS? I HATE SHOULDER TAPPERS.)
1. he will remain silent and we will stare at each other in awkward silence as a million gay babies spring forth from a million wombs. he thinks: ‘what a stupid girl. i obviously WROTE you the note because i am consciously avoiding direct verbal interaction right? i shall stare at you in awkward silence until you leave.’
2. he will turn out to be the pompous type who loves intruding into another’s business. he says: ‘oh GREAT. i have been waiting for you to acknowledge it. tell me what subjects are you taking. you’re taking history? ok what’s your grade. tell me what prajadhipok’s greatest attribution as a nationalist is. pass me one of your history essays and let me critique it because i am pompous and nosey.’ which will be very traumatic for me because i) i suck at history and ii) it would totally ruin the idea of a nice Nice Note Guy.
3. he says: ‘what note?’ because he totally wasn’t the one who wrote it and just picked it up from the floor for me. (which is highly improbable but since we’re talking possibilities here let’s be thorough.)
b) as i leave, i smile.
1. he misinterprets it as a sneer and thinks i’m mocking him.
2. he does not look at me and i would have to stand there for awhile until he DOES look at me. then i smile. and how retarded would that be?
3. he is pompous and nosey: ‘oh GREAT. i…’ etc.
c) i just leave and pretend i didn’t see him.
1. he thinks: ‘OMG WHAT A UNGRATEFUL ILL-MANNERED BITCH. i will never send nice encouraging notes that are well-intentioned but may perpetuate much psychological turmoil for mentally-unstable receivers, ever again.’
2. he is a sensitive dude and is deeply disturbed by the etiquette-ly bankrupt state of the society. for nights he will be plagued by my moral decadence and empty consciences of the general people. then he will decide to steel his heart up to level with the equally insensitive masses and become a Mean Note Guy.
either way i would have built a Frankenstein because of my own social disorder.
SO, ANYWAYS. just at the moment when i had to make a decision that may or may not determine the social mores of Singapore’s future, something miraculous (for the second time that day) happened.
while all my crazy conjectures and premonitions were desperately evaluated, the very basal portion of my brain developed a random bubble of thought JUST as i was in the perfect proximity of contact with him. this was the thought: ‘oh my god should i buy crispy chicken for dinner? ’cause i totally want crispy chicken. yes i should, YES I WILL! YES!!! CRISPY CHICKEN!!!’ in the five seconds taken to formulate and excite over this decision, I HAVE ALREADY PASSED NICE NOTE GUY. which means, no action was undertaken – i missed the chance to screw up. so, this being dealt with.. sort of, i went to eat crispy chicken.
there are three lessons you can take home with you from this:
firstly, don’t be stupid. just accept the kindness and move on.
secondly, there are really really truly nice people on this Earth despite them unintentionally leading to my confusing mental breakdown.
lastly, crispy chicken can always be counted on to entangle yourself from awkward social scenes.
that is all.
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society is so very transparent.
people often are attracted to enigmas. the mysterious, you-know-they-have-some-sort-of-emotional-baggage-but-they-won’t-say-what, you-will-never-truly-understand-them, seemingly complex human types.
i know this may sound accusatory, but i stand by it: these people – these deep, elusive, silent people – usually just have not much of a personality to present. that or they’re too dense or cowardly to figure themselves out. so why do we as humans find the cryptic qualities of such tragic heroes so appealing?
it is because we are lesser humans than we believe ourselves to be.
there are two scenarios.
1) ‘complex’ and/or ambiguous people are usually indicatively troubled. we are drawn to them because we believe we have the power to protect, help, or reform them – basically to pull them out of whatever deeply emotional turmoil they’re in. the urge to help does not, as much as you wish it to be, spill forth from your compassionate waterfall of a heart. it is more likely to be a manifestation of your own insecurities, and your desperate desire to either prove to yourself you aren’t in such a bad situation (there are others worse off than you, and you have the power to help/protect them) or to image yourself after a kind of saviour-type. both are telling of a deep seated fear that your own failings may surface if you don’t hype on another’s. usually the most unstable of personalities are prone to feel infatuation towards the frail, the troubled, the ‘mystery’.
2) these ‘enigmas’ leave almost every aspect of their thoughts so vague that it is possible for you to construct, without inhibitions, the ideal self you want him or her to be. in other words, you are exploiting his or her ambiguity of character (what you call, mysteriousness) to romanticize the concept of him/her. it’s a delusional relationship from both sides (he/she’s too preoccupied with not understanding their selves, while you’re just investing your emotions on an illusory ideal.) why the need to create a romanticized object of desire when we can seek a living personality? again, insecurity. an ideal is a piece of fiction, written entirely by yourself, and therefore in your total control. by shifting your affections to an actual character, you will necessarily be subjected to unpredictability, possible blatant rejection, the truth. people fear that. they turn to ‘enigmas’ because nothing will ever be explicit. there is a way to explain the hell out of any nasty situation you may be caught in with these ‘enigmas’. only those with enough self-assurance are ready to take on loving a proper personality.
okay it’s just a general observation and while may apply to quite a huge number, is not indicative of everyone la.
an example, then.
you are reading someone’s livejournal. that someone muses endlessly about how ‘yesterday, it was (an ethereal atmosphere) and all i wanted to do was (insert wistful imagery here), i wonder if (pensive, pensive). sometimes i (unexplained sorrows and regrets).’ you are entranced. it ends with a single line that hints at an acknowledgement towards someone who’s made some sort of dent in his/her life: ‘if you’re reading this…’. you spend an hour dissecting every knowledge you have of yourself and him/her, at last concluding that yes. he or she was talking about you. you are very very happy. OMG!, you think (in a very un-elusivebutterful way), he/she who seems impenetrable in his/her bubble of self-agony and awesomeness actually needs/noticed/depends on/might-even-like me.
you are a fool.
the musing comes about when one cannot form proper resolutions from his thoughts. the acknowledgement is probably a reference to his or her pet dog. again, you’re projecting your ideal on this ambiguity. the whole cycle is ridiculously stupid. people need to grow some balls and stop obsessing over these mysterious types. they are just dodgy people who can’t make up their minds and are too pretentious to admit it blatantly. it’s in fact quite sad for them because they’re just lost and helpless people. so yes, people who are irrationally infatuated over frail and mysterious fairies of this motherearth, kindly wake up your idea and quit romanticizing them – you are idolizing an image you’ve created, it’s very sad and soppy and makes me feel very nauseated and disillusioned. is all goodbye.
i’m very lucky because most people i know are pretty self-assured. or at least enough so to hold their own and not have to hide behind an annoying shroud of elusiveness. people who are well-adjusted, optimistic and open (or are quiet and private, yes also possible) about their lives are often the deepest ones i know. pretentious mysteriousness is pretentious.
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つけかえた頭で 彼らはからかうの
not being thoughtful about life is a tragic excuse for not blogging. :’-(
also, i don’t exactly know where each stands in the causal link. so in a desperate (very) attempt to regain some sort of contemplative ability, i’m here. hi.
1.
i am growing old. and tired. and jaded.
2.
so are my parents, apparently. i sat in the car for a full ten minutes chatting with my mom and bullying my sister, wondering why my dad hasn’t started driving: he didn’t know i was in the car.
3.
i have come to terms with my largely carnivorous and dairy-based diet. everyone’s all like, omg weiqing please eat vegetables you disgusting methane-filled toxic wasteland of a child. so after the week of fried potatoes, i attempted a 40% increase in vegetable intake – including mushrooms, some dubious bits of spinach leaves (which were absolute horrors), and other things that look like they belong to a vegetable patch but i’m not sure what they actually are. also, i ate fruits. FRUITS. instead of chips, i subbed peanut butter into my snack bar. i am now extremely addicted to peanut butter. it’s a kind of vegetable right? nuts are vegetables – so are peanuts? k let’s just leave it as yes.
anyhus, instead of transforming into the supersonic being, it’s made me lethargic and weak-kneed and hungry almost all the time. so i’ve decided, screw this shit. my body is probably wired differently and can only be healthily sustained with preservatives and processed bacteria and stuff. so i’m not going to eat vegetable ever again. that’s all.
4.
you would think that not seeing your closest friends for a long time can reduce friction, but when we pass a level of friendship where you can suspend basic respect without fear of losing one another, it’s difficult to truly enjoy the company. is it because we’re so secure about each other, there’s no urgency to sustain it?
we’re so caught up with ourselves, no one’s bothered to realise that i’m the only one without another one of us where i am, so you just sidestep my need to share about my life, and sidestep my developments with a ‘you’ve changed’. so why am i the one having to listen and advice when there are others right there with you. when do i get my chance to tell you about my experience without your judgement?
it’s getting hard to reconcile both sides of my life, and sometimes i think the current me is better off with those in school who bother to understand and actually care.
5.
most of the time now, i want to be alone.
6.
mugging can no longer get you anywhere. even if you’re as intelligent a being as me. your only salvation now is super-mugging, of which i am not yet capable of but will soon enough.
Q 