I believe in karma. There's definitely retribution... and then there's instant retribution.
Just two days after last posting about diets and pondering why girls could never stand up to peer pressure, I found out why.
Interestingly enough, the day had begun quite well. A few hours into school, I noticed a friend of mine who kept staring at me. I tried to ignore it at first - after all, I long ago reasoned that being scrutinized in public like a zoo exhibit was a small price to pay for being criminally good-looking.
Imagine my surprise, however, when my friend suddenly quipped, "Hey, did you do anything over the weekend? For some reason you look damn good today."
Of course, even though I had condemned superficiality with conviction on a number of occasions, what was to stop my little heart from brimming with joy? Oh, but for my strict self-imposition of humility I would have sprouted wings and fluttered away!
In my opinion, the praise was no less diminished (no matter what my other friends say) by the fact that the astute friend in question was Jared. A guy, just in case you haven't had the pleasure of meeting him.
(It didn't count, my other friends maintained, if the person who praised you wasn't a girl. You want to look good to girls, not guys!
Desist in that line of reasoning, I replied. Jared is good-looking, that's been established. If you were a learner driver, would you rather be praised for your skills by your mother, or the driving instructor?)
But the happiness was not to last. Shortly after, I met a female JC classmate, who took one look at me and said, in her own words, "Sorry Hanting, but I've got to say this. You look like you've... gotten bigger."
I like to think that if I had met my female classmate before Jared, this post would never have come to pass. But in meeting Jared first, my ego had been set up for a bigger roasting at the subsequent bon-fire. Therefore, there are divine forces at work, hence instant retribution.
Sorry to all the ladies out there. It is nigh impossible to brush peer pressure off like nothing, and we all have our moments of fallibility. You are forgiven for skipping the occasional meal.
THERE I HAVE SAID IT I HAVE ABSOLVED MYSELF. NOW LET ME BE.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Diet (Not The Government)
Warning: the following fact may shock you.
According to my mother, in the thirty odd years it took her to mature from an infant to a mother of her own... she did not go on a single slimming diet.
In fact, when I asked my mum to air her views on girls who go on diets nowadays, I realized people would pay good money just to see the look of pure horror and disbelief on her face. I might as well have just told her that I was the father of an illegitimate brood of children.
In my time, she would say, it was practically impossible to find a girl who consciously dieted. Everyone ate as much as they could get their hands on, and never worried about how much their fats were showing. Healthy mindset, healthy lifestyle.
Of course, I rushed to the photo cabinet to check out the girls from her era. An age where no girl dieted? Amazing! Was the smallest size in the clothing market equivalent to our current XL? Was every group shot taken with wide frame lens?
To my surprise, the girls from her age looked pretty much like the girls, well, now.
Simple analysis offers a host of explanations. Nutrition was not as plentiful or affordable back then, girls (people in general) take to more sedentary lifetstyles now, there's a higher value placed on looks as compared to before, girls just worry too much, the list goes on.
Of course, knowing all that doesn't help you grasp the current reality as it is. Today, through random conversations with friends, I discovered four girls who are currently on diets. Yes, although every single one of them looked perfectly healthy to me, all four were actively dieting and missing the occasional meal.
To all the girls in the world, are you worrying that you would lose potential suitors owing to your weight? That you wouldn't look good in, say, your wedding photo? All you need is a simple change in perspective.
Starve now. Order a big bowl of mee pok, with less oil, less vege, less meat, less sauces, then just suck on the wooden chopsticks for sustenance.
Get a boyfriend. If the conviction is so strong that being fat reduces your chances of getting attached, then being thin should make the guys flock. If they still don't come, then, well, starve more. Nothing destroys self-control in a guy faster than the sight of a girl who weighs less than a PSP.
Binge. Once you're attached eat to your heart's content. Love produces a hallucinogenic effect stronger than Ecstasy cut with talcum powder. At this stage in the relationship, nothing in the world would make him think you're anything less than tantalizingly desirable.
Plan. Six months before a photo shoot or The Big Day, return to The Wooden Chopsticks diet. 2 weeks before, allow for the sucking of 3 Tic Tacs a day, so that you may look svelte instead of severely malnourished. Choose a train for your wedding gown that can conceal the bag of saline for your IV drip, to give you the extra boost to say 'I Do' with conviction.
Cross the finishing line. After the last camera fires away, collapse into the arms of your beloved. He won't be able to tell exhaustion from malnourishment.
Seriously though, I agree that I shouldn't be propagating the sexist view that girls only diet to attract guys. Not every girl thinks that hitching a guy is that important after all, at the end of the day. Also, what's wrong with dieting simply to feel good and look good?
But times sure change fast.
Now, just before any girl meets her boyfriend's parents for the first time, she has to worry about how she looks, how she talks, what she talks about, how she carries herself. In fact, my mum told me some time back that she too had developed a list of criteria for any girlfriend I brought home.
Before, my great-grandmother's vetting process was far faster. She didn't care if you brought home a girlfriend who was 1.9m, or who had three arms, or who needed to shave more than you do - she just looked straight to the hips.
Big hips, pass. Small hips, fail. If you don't know why, don't ask me.
In any case I admit that it's much harder living life as a girl. Guys never have nightmares over which potential wardrobe misstep would render us social outcasts, or worry about how the rest of the guys would spit on us for putting on 0.5 kg over the holidays.
In fact, I salute any girl over the age of 18 who still has 3 approving friends - you've treaded through a minefield I never would have known to navigate. You'll go far.
Just eat more please. You wouldn't believe the physical pain we guys feel when we see you girls skip meals.
According to my mother, in the thirty odd years it took her to mature from an infant to a mother of her own... she did not go on a single slimming diet.
In fact, when I asked my mum to air her views on girls who go on diets nowadays, I realized people would pay good money just to see the look of pure horror and disbelief on her face. I might as well have just told her that I was the father of an illegitimate brood of children.
In my time, she would say, it was practically impossible to find a girl who consciously dieted. Everyone ate as much as they could get their hands on, and never worried about how much their fats were showing. Healthy mindset, healthy lifestyle.
Of course, I rushed to the photo cabinet to check out the girls from her era. An age where no girl dieted? Amazing! Was the smallest size in the clothing market equivalent to our current XL? Was every group shot taken with wide frame lens?
To my surprise, the girls from her age looked pretty much like the girls, well, now.
Simple analysis offers a host of explanations. Nutrition was not as plentiful or affordable back then, girls (people in general) take to more sedentary lifetstyles now, there's a higher value placed on looks as compared to before, girls just worry too much, the list goes on.
Of course, knowing all that doesn't help you grasp the current reality as it is. Today, through random conversations with friends, I discovered four girls who are currently on diets. Yes, although every single one of them looked perfectly healthy to me, all four were actively dieting and missing the occasional meal.
To all the girls in the world, are you worrying that you would lose potential suitors owing to your weight? That you wouldn't look good in, say, your wedding photo? All you need is a simple change in perspective.
Starve now. Order a big bowl of mee pok, with less oil, less vege, less meat, less sauces, then just suck on the wooden chopsticks for sustenance.
Get a boyfriend. If the conviction is so strong that being fat reduces your chances of getting attached, then being thin should make the guys flock. If they still don't come, then, well, starve more. Nothing destroys self-control in a guy faster than the sight of a girl who weighs less than a PSP.
Binge. Once you're attached eat to your heart's content. Love produces a hallucinogenic effect stronger than Ecstasy cut with talcum powder. At this stage in the relationship, nothing in the world would make him think you're anything less than tantalizingly desirable.
Plan. Six months before a photo shoot or The Big Day, return to The Wooden Chopsticks diet. 2 weeks before, allow for the sucking of 3 Tic Tacs a day, so that you may look svelte instead of severely malnourished. Choose a train for your wedding gown that can conceal the bag of saline for your IV drip, to give you the extra boost to say 'I Do' with conviction.
Cross the finishing line. After the last camera fires away, collapse into the arms of your beloved. He won't be able to tell exhaustion from malnourishment.
Seriously though, I agree that I shouldn't be propagating the sexist view that girls only diet to attract guys. Not every girl thinks that hitching a guy is that important after all, at the end of the day. Also, what's wrong with dieting simply to feel good and look good?
But times sure change fast.
Now, just before any girl meets her boyfriend's parents for the first time, she has to worry about how she looks, how she talks, what she talks about, how she carries herself. In fact, my mum told me some time back that she too had developed a list of criteria for any girlfriend I brought home.
Before, my great-grandmother's vetting process was far faster. She didn't care if you brought home a girlfriend who was 1.9m, or who had three arms, or who needed to shave more than you do - she just looked straight to the hips.
Big hips, pass. Small hips, fail. If you don't know why, don't ask me.
In any case I admit that it's much harder living life as a girl. Guys never have nightmares over which potential wardrobe misstep would render us social outcasts, or worry about how the rest of the guys would spit on us for putting on 0.5 kg over the holidays.
In fact, I salute any girl over the age of 18 who still has 3 approving friends - you've treaded through a minefield I never would have known to navigate. You'll go far.
Just eat more please. You wouldn't believe the physical pain we guys feel when we see you girls skip meals.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Hush
Why cry, my long-time friend
Those tear-drops of misty sorrow
There is no hurt too deep to mend
No shoulder too unwelcoming to borrow
So sprinkle away like grains of sand
Your pent up sadness, and joy will surely follow
No wait, humour me and let me guess
The nature of the woe plaguing you
From what I see it's easy to assess
It's an affliction that hounds not one but two
That the one whose composure is likewise dispossessed
Is none other than your beau
How did I know? Why don't be silly
Few things would affect all people this way
That would make one abandon hope so freely
Or cast a gloom over the brightest day
If before you doubted how heartache could hurt so dearly
Well now I'm sure you have nothing to say
... Oh I see, so that's why you're so distraught
But be strong now you silly thing
His going away to study is no one's fault
It's only patience you'll be needing
Plus he'll return even faster than you thought
You'll be surprised at how time had passed a-flying
I know, it might be hard for you to believe
But truly you're among the fortunate few
Though your heart aches now with no reprieve
It surely means your love is true
For wouldn't it be worse if when he had to leave
No longing or pain on your part was due?
You're lucky, really I do think so -
How many have yet to find the love they long for
Though the sadness and longing that you now know
May conspire to drive you up the wall
But take strength in knowing that all your woes
Are petty next to all that your love with him stands for
So hush now.
Those tear-drops of misty sorrow
There is no hurt too deep to mend
No shoulder too unwelcoming to borrow
So sprinkle away like grains of sand
Your pent up sadness, and joy will surely follow
No wait, humour me and let me guess
The nature of the woe plaguing you
From what I see it's easy to assess
It's an affliction that hounds not one but two
That the one whose composure is likewise dispossessed
Is none other than your beau
How did I know? Why don't be silly
Few things would affect all people this way
That would make one abandon hope so freely
Or cast a gloom over the brightest day
If before you doubted how heartache could hurt so dearly
Well now I'm sure you have nothing to say
... Oh I see, so that's why you're so distraught
But be strong now you silly thing
His going away to study is no one's fault
It's only patience you'll be needing
Plus he'll return even faster than you thought
You'll be surprised at how time had passed a-flying
I know, it might be hard for you to believe
But truly you're among the fortunate few
Though your heart aches now with no reprieve
It surely means your love is true
For wouldn't it be worse if when he had to leave
No longing or pain on your part was due?
You're lucky, really I do think so -
How many have yet to find the love they long for
Though the sadness and longing that you now know
May conspire to drive you up the wall
But take strength in knowing that all your woes
Are petty next to all that your love with him stands for
So hush now.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Age
This morning, I awoke to a major crisis.
For one, my phone alarm didn't wake me up. This normally gets me in a bad mood, because I like to think I've grown past needing the Multiple Alarm System (one alarm under the pillow, one by the bed, one by the dressing table, one being my Mum In A Bad Mood). In any case, being late is never a good thing (not being dead, but not being on time, that is).
The crisis well and truly began to unfold, when I checked my phone to see why it didn't go off. I turned it on, and waited for the welcome screen. Then I waited some more. And some more. And then some more.
But the welcome screen never came. My phone just lit up, displayed a very friendly blank screen, then beeped non-stop like a happy idiot.
My brain woke up in double-quick time. The entire list of potential repercussions flooded my mind as I mechanically tried to restart and save my phone. The first beads of cold sweat rolled down my brow.
How could I rescue the priceless SMSes I'd stored? What about all the contacts from my fan club? Most importantly, and by far the most worrisome, how would I ever adapt to a new phone?!?
It is well-known that when the human brain is unable to handle extreme shock, it will unfocus to allow some other more pleasant thought to occupy the owner of the brain, to prevent the owner from doing anything stupid.
In my case, a distant memory of a conversation between Enying and I was dredged up. That day, we were discussing the merits of different brands of laptops that the school made available to us. Eventually, an Apple vs. Microsoft issue arose.
In response to the query why she was reluctant to purchase a Powerbook, Enying said that she did not embrace the idea of learning to adapt to a completely different system. I concurred then, saying that the whole notion of having to relearn the basics from scratch just put me off.
Only after a further five minutes of griping about why things had to keep changing, why consumers were always being forced to adapt and update, did we stop to listen to ourselves and the things we were saying. As the awful realization sank in, we simply burst out laughing.
Yes. If you haven't figured it out by now, we were laughing at the way we sounded just like our parents griping about keeping up with technology.
Oh, the way age creeps up on you.
One moment we were the upstarts, the firebrands, the young ones brimming with the energy to change the world with our ideas and actions. Out with outmoded rules and archaic systems; the young are here to infuse flexibility and invigorating lifeblood.
And the next moment, we're sitting comfy among our established habits and practices, tsk-tsking radical ideas and hating the way iTunes and MSN Messenger keeps asking us to update.
Eventually, I managed to save my phone, and avoided the unimaginable alternative of having to learn to use a Samsung or a Sony. How did I fix my phone? Did I troubleshoot the phone systematically, slowly identifying the problem? Did I go on the Net, source for solutions from support websites and attempt electrical engineering on my own?
Nah. I just did what my mum would have done - I dropped my phone on the floor, and prayed damn hard.
I hope my mum never reads this.
For one, my phone alarm didn't wake me up. This normally gets me in a bad mood, because I like to think I've grown past needing the Multiple Alarm System (one alarm under the pillow, one by the bed, one by the dressing table, one being my Mum In A Bad Mood). In any case, being late is never a good thing (not being dead, but not being on time, that is).
The crisis well and truly began to unfold, when I checked my phone to see why it didn't go off. I turned it on, and waited for the welcome screen. Then I waited some more. And some more. And then some more.
But the welcome screen never came. My phone just lit up, displayed a very friendly blank screen, then beeped non-stop like a happy idiot.
My brain woke up in double-quick time. The entire list of potential repercussions flooded my mind as I mechanically tried to restart and save my phone. The first beads of cold sweat rolled down my brow.
How could I rescue the priceless SMSes I'd stored? What about all the contacts from my fan club? Most importantly, and by far the most worrisome, how would I ever adapt to a new phone?!?
It is well-known that when the human brain is unable to handle extreme shock, it will unfocus to allow some other more pleasant thought to occupy the owner of the brain, to prevent the owner from doing anything stupid.
In my case, a distant memory of a conversation between Enying and I was dredged up. That day, we were discussing the merits of different brands of laptops that the school made available to us. Eventually, an Apple vs. Microsoft issue arose.
In response to the query why she was reluctant to purchase a Powerbook, Enying said that she did not embrace the idea of learning to adapt to a completely different system. I concurred then, saying that the whole notion of having to relearn the basics from scratch just put me off.
Only after a further five minutes of griping about why things had to keep changing, why consumers were always being forced to adapt and update, did we stop to listen to ourselves and the things we were saying. As the awful realization sank in, we simply burst out laughing.
Yes. If you haven't figured it out by now, we were laughing at the way we sounded just like our parents griping about keeping up with technology.
Oh, the way age creeps up on you.
One moment we were the upstarts, the firebrands, the young ones brimming with the energy to change the world with our ideas and actions. Out with outmoded rules and archaic systems; the young are here to infuse flexibility and invigorating lifeblood.
And the next moment, we're sitting comfy among our established habits and practices, tsk-tsking radical ideas and hating the way iTunes and MSN Messenger keeps asking us to update.
Eventually, I managed to save my phone, and avoided the unimaginable alternative of having to learn to use a Samsung or a Sony. How did I fix my phone? Did I troubleshoot the phone systematically, slowly identifying the problem? Did I go on the Net, source for solutions from support websites and attempt electrical engineering on my own?
Nah. I just did what my mum would have done - I dropped my phone on the floor, and prayed damn hard.
I hope my mum never reads this.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
SMS
I used to laugh whenever I read articles that cautioned against sending emails or SMSes to unintended parties. I thought, that could never happen to me, I'm young and nimble and quick-minded, it's only the elderly who can ever do something like that.
And the horror stories that abound really do chill you. You've probably heard of the disgruntled worker who sent a vulgarity-laden tirade against the boss, to the boss. Or the daredevil Casonova who's called the right lass by the wrong name.
Yes, I've had the distinct pleasure of finding out myself, just how much your skin can crawl, how much your spheres can shrink, when you really do make a mistake like that.
The first time it happened was when I was at a group outing with a girl I once loved. The thing was, another girl (whom I was on good terms with) she particularly disliked was there as well. In a moment of extreme folly, I sent a semi-flirtatious SMS to the friend, thinking to tease her on her dressing that day.
And as I sent it, I told myself, 'Na, Hanting, don't be stupid and send it to the wrong person ah. Just think of what she would do to you. Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid.'
Was it my fault that their names were just two letters away from each other in my phonebook?
The moment I saw the SMS going to the wrong number I freaked. I know, I should have kept cool, then fenced off the resultant outpouring of fury with a sauve and debonair attitude. 'Aiya, just to see whether you will get jealous la' could probably have saved the day.
Oh, but I was so young and inexperienced then. When I freaked, I did a mad little dance around, clutching and squeezing and contorting my phone, in the vain hope that the outgoing electronic signals would somehow jam. My face went into Botox mode. I began to gurgle.
The best part was, when the beep on her phone came through, she looked at me and asked what was wrong. She then said, and I remember thinking then then that on the bright side we'll get to see how strong our relationship was,
"Why are you so excited? Ok ok, I know you've sent me an SMS already, I'll read it now."
Sometimes, nowadays, when my thumb wavers over a keypad, about to press the Send button, the scars still tingle. Honest.
A favourite story I like to relate about my BMT days, in fact, bears a close resemblance to my own personal tragedy. There was this guy who was on the phone every single night for hours on end, but he just simply refused to come clean with us and tell us about his girlfriend. According to him, he was just updating his mum on his day.
We thought hard about it. If he was lying to his army brothers, he deserved what was coming to him. If he wasn't lying, and really was talking to his mum while smiling like an idiot and giggling like a schoolgirl, then, well, by general standards of morality, he deserved it all the more.
One night, we waited until he left the bunk, then sped to his phone. We checked to see who he was calling every night, and promptly switched the number under that name with his mum's number. The dastardly deed done, we replaced his phone as we found it, and sat back to watch.
A nauseatingly cloying goodnight SMS and the relevant reply later, we watched a Jekyll/Hyde transformation unfold. It's memories like that which make Army worthwhile.
(On hindsight, we tarnished a good friendship, with only a barrel of laughs in return for it. On the balance of things however, seeing that our world is sullen and gloomy enough as it is... it was probably worth it.)
I've since learnt a lot. For instance, that there are situations in which you purposely make a mistake like that... but that's another post, another day. Suffice to say that while the uninitiated make mistakes, and the experienced avoid making them, only masters turn mistakes into opportunities.
Lastly, if you're in a relationship and you think both of you can't get any stronger, test it with a little boo-boo as described above.
If she doesn't stop hitting you after ten minutes, be warned, there's still room for improvement.
And the horror stories that abound really do chill you. You've probably heard of the disgruntled worker who sent a vulgarity-laden tirade against the boss, to the boss. Or the daredevil Casonova who's called the right lass by the wrong name.
Yes, I've had the distinct pleasure of finding out myself, just how much your skin can crawl, how much your spheres can shrink, when you really do make a mistake like that.
The first time it happened was when I was at a group outing with a girl I once loved. The thing was, another girl (whom I was on good terms with) she particularly disliked was there as well. In a moment of extreme folly, I sent a semi-flirtatious SMS to the friend, thinking to tease her on her dressing that day.
And as I sent it, I told myself, 'Na, Hanting, don't be stupid and send it to the wrong person ah. Just think of what she would do to you. Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid.'
Was it my fault that their names were just two letters away from each other in my phonebook?
The moment I saw the SMS going to the wrong number I freaked. I know, I should have kept cool, then fenced off the resultant outpouring of fury with a sauve and debonair attitude. 'Aiya, just to see whether you will get jealous la' could probably have saved the day.
Oh, but I was so young and inexperienced then. When I freaked, I did a mad little dance around, clutching and squeezing and contorting my phone, in the vain hope that the outgoing electronic signals would somehow jam. My face went into Botox mode. I began to gurgle.
The best part was, when the beep on her phone came through, she looked at me and asked what was wrong. She then said, and I remember thinking then then that on the bright side we'll get to see how strong our relationship was,
"Why are you so excited? Ok ok, I know you've sent me an SMS already, I'll read it now."
Sometimes, nowadays, when my thumb wavers over a keypad, about to press the Send button, the scars still tingle. Honest.
A favourite story I like to relate about my BMT days, in fact, bears a close resemblance to my own personal tragedy. There was this guy who was on the phone every single night for hours on end, but he just simply refused to come clean with us and tell us about his girlfriend. According to him, he was just updating his mum on his day.
We thought hard about it. If he was lying to his army brothers, he deserved what was coming to him. If he wasn't lying, and really was talking to his mum while smiling like an idiot and giggling like a schoolgirl, then, well, by general standards of morality, he deserved it all the more.
One night, we waited until he left the bunk, then sped to his phone. We checked to see who he was calling every night, and promptly switched the number under that name with his mum's number. The dastardly deed done, we replaced his phone as we found it, and sat back to watch.
A nauseatingly cloying goodnight SMS and the relevant reply later, we watched a Jekyll/Hyde transformation unfold. It's memories like that which make Army worthwhile.
(On hindsight, we tarnished a good friendship, with only a barrel of laughs in return for it. On the balance of things however, seeing that our world is sullen and gloomy enough as it is... it was probably worth it.)
I've since learnt a lot. For instance, that there are situations in which you purposely make a mistake like that... but that's another post, another day. Suffice to say that while the uninitiated make mistakes, and the experienced avoid making them, only masters turn mistakes into opportunities.
Lastly, if you're in a relationship and you think both of you can't get any stronger, test it with a little boo-boo as described above.
If she doesn't stop hitting you after ten minutes, be warned, there's still room for improvement.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Head v. Heart
It was a Monday morning, not a particularly good time to face down yet another glaring bias most people in our fair society unwittingly have.
A friend's blog started it all - after Shu Hyphen Wen had posted a picture of a good-looking guy on her blog (not me this time... overexposure's never good), her tag board came alive with comments regarding the "cuteness" and "hunkiness" of the guy in question.
"This cannot be right," I told my Germaine (names changed to protect the truly innocent) before lecture began. "How can one afford to be so superficial, and work up so much attraction to someone you don't even know, based s0lely on how he looks?"
My tirade continued - one must be fully aware of the natural bias to accord good-looking people more good-feelings compared to the rest, to ensure full impartiality in social dealings. What about people who look less good? Do you immediately distrust them?
Furthermore, looks are but a single facet of a person, and society shouldn't harp on it so much in lieu of all the other qualities a model citizen should possess, right? For a moment, I felt like a walking GP essay.
My friend rousingly agreed. And when I looked into her eyes I knew she had seen the light - there was a clarity of vision, a certain fiery edge to her concentrated gaze. I saw a woman awaken from years of slumbering under false perceptions, and my jaded little heart beat anew. Hear, hear, how quickly does man's folly undo through careful reflection!
Just then, the aforementioned good-looking guy strode into the LT.
The broken spell was cast anew. Resolve was quickly thrown out the window, followed closely behind by logic and reasoning. My female friend's eyes glazed over once again, as she did a little jig of merriment, hands clapping on their own accord.
"Oooooooooh Hanting look at him today! He looks so good!"
15 mins of hard persuasion to set her mind free from bias. 3 seconds to bring it all back. Oh yes, the world is fair.
A friend's blog started it all - after Shu Hyphen Wen had posted a picture of a good-looking guy on her blog (not me this time... overexposure's never good), her tag board came alive with comments regarding the "cuteness" and "hunkiness" of the guy in question.
"This cannot be right," I told my Germaine (names changed to protect the truly innocent) before lecture began. "How can one afford to be so superficial, and work up so much attraction to someone you don't even know, based s0lely on how he looks?"
My tirade continued - one must be fully aware of the natural bias to accord good-looking people more good-feelings compared to the rest, to ensure full impartiality in social dealings. What about people who look less good? Do you immediately distrust them?
Furthermore, looks are but a single facet of a person, and society shouldn't harp on it so much in lieu of all the other qualities a model citizen should possess, right? For a moment, I felt like a walking GP essay.
My friend rousingly agreed. And when I looked into her eyes I knew she had seen the light - there was a clarity of vision, a certain fiery edge to her concentrated gaze. I saw a woman awaken from years of slumbering under false perceptions, and my jaded little heart beat anew. Hear, hear, how quickly does man's folly undo through careful reflection!
Just then, the aforementioned good-looking guy strode into the LT.
The broken spell was cast anew. Resolve was quickly thrown out the window, followed closely behind by logic and reasoning. My female friend's eyes glazed over once again, as she did a little jig of merriment, hands clapping on their own accord.
"Oooooooooh Hanting look at him today! He looks so good!"
15 mins of hard persuasion to set her mind free from bias. 3 seconds to bring it all back. Oh yes, the world is fair.
Friday, September 02, 2005
A Dying Crush
Today, when I picked up a photo of her, I realized... that the magic had finally evaporated. Whatever love, whatever care I once had, had quietly faded away.
And when the magic goes, so do all illusions previously held. There she was, in my mind's eye, warped beyond recognition. Her faults a thousand times illuminated, her virtues conversely diminished.
I turned to old memories to try to uncover some flagging vestige of tenderness, but found nothing. I have long been a staunch believer in the theory that true love never does quite leave you, and therefore, I was faced with the only explanation that maybe I never did harbour that for her.
It's strange, isn't it, the way crushes seize you?
I should know. I have seen it happen to friends, have had the fortune of experiencing some myself. Against all logic and reasoning, a crush will grip you tight and suffocate the sense out of you, stirring feelings you never thought could exist.
Ask any person experiencing a crush how did they fall prey to another so completely, and rarely will you get a coherent answer. It's a common denominator that crushes are brought upon mere mortals inexplicably, inextricably, irrevocably.
Nothing short of the passage of time can wrest someone from the embrace of a crush.
The intensity, the pulse of such feelings, so strong that even the jaded could misconstrue and see love where it does not exist... eventually fade. And when they do, you are left standed on a little island of bewilderment, wondering how you ended up here in the first place.
I wonder though, why is it that some crushes do not fade. Some persist, like little devilish parasites, feeding off your emotions for years on end. You think that as time passes old flames will extinguish, that old feelings will dwindle. Oh ho, think again.
I hope that if she ever finds out that I harbour no more affection for her, she will understand and forgive the flightiness I appear to embody. Our time was good together, while it lasted, but the sweetness of the moment will not sustain me much longer.
I seek more. Precisely what I seek I still do not know, but I do seek more.
Goodbye, then. If our paths do cross again, then let the meeting be one of close friends who share a special bond others lack. And nothing else.
Goodbye, Daphne...
And when the magic goes, so do all illusions previously held. There she was, in my mind's eye, warped beyond recognition. Her faults a thousand times illuminated, her virtues conversely diminished.
I turned to old memories to try to uncover some flagging vestige of tenderness, but found nothing. I have long been a staunch believer in the theory that true love never does quite leave you, and therefore, I was faced with the only explanation that maybe I never did harbour that for her.
It's strange, isn't it, the way crushes seize you?
I should know. I have seen it happen to friends, have had the fortune of experiencing some myself. Against all logic and reasoning, a crush will grip you tight and suffocate the sense out of you, stirring feelings you never thought could exist.
Ask any person experiencing a crush how did they fall prey to another so completely, and rarely will you get a coherent answer. It's a common denominator that crushes are brought upon mere mortals inexplicably, inextricably, irrevocably.
Nothing short of the passage of time can wrest someone from the embrace of a crush.
The intensity, the pulse of such feelings, so strong that even the jaded could misconstrue and see love where it does not exist... eventually fade. And when they do, you are left standed on a little island of bewilderment, wondering how you ended up here in the first place.
I wonder though, why is it that some crushes do not fade. Some persist, like little devilish parasites, feeding off your emotions for years on end. You think that as time passes old flames will extinguish, that old feelings will dwindle. Oh ho, think again.
I hope that if she ever finds out that I harbour no more affection for her, she will understand and forgive the flightiness I appear to embody. Our time was good together, while it lasted, but the sweetness of the moment will not sustain me much longer.
I seek more. Precisely what I seek I still do not know, but I do seek more.
Goodbye, then. If our paths do cross again, then let the meeting be one of close friends who share a special bond others lack. And nothing else.
Goodbye, Daphne...
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