Ms Binder

I've always been soft-hearted. Not completely soft-hearted, mind you. A particularly poignant book will elicit a tear or two, but I won't gush everytime the sun sets beautifully, or weep for evey abandoned hamster out there. Think... The Rock being sensitive.

Strangely enough, I cannot bear to be harsh or cruel even in computer games. Of course, if my task is to fry every ugly alien there is invading Earth, natural animalistic instincts take over. I hardly blink. But conjure a sufficiently believable real-life situation, and I'm putty.

The last time that happened was in Star Wars KOTOR. As a Jedi Knight, I was faced with a deceptively simple choice: either take pity on a desitute mother I rescued and give her money, or kill her and loot the treasure she was hiding. Simple, no?

No. Although I began the game resolving to be a full-fledged evil Sith Lord, swearing to take every opportunity I could to swing to the Dark Side, I just couldn't do it. 5 minutes after killing that electronic character, my Sith Lord deflated. There was pride in ruthlessly taking over the world, but endless shame in killing the helpless. The Force left me. My lightsaber flickered, and went out.

Eventually, I had to load the game, and take the alternative choice of helping that poor mother. It's silly, I know, but I just had to. I would just have to take pains to keep this dity secret from the other Sith Lords.

(Incidentally, I think computer games are a brilliant way to diagnose how much of a risk to society your child is. For example, make him play Sim City. If every city he touches reaches its zenith, good. If every five minutes he triggers an earthquake, typhoon, tsunami, asteroid storm, Godzilla attack, and laughs maniacally, consider an exorcism.)

However, I've also always enjoyed mischief. There is this obscene thrill at delivering a jest so subtle it leaves your victim spluttering in shock, or in pulling off the most nefarious gag on a completely unsuspecting victim. The problem comes when, every once in a while, conscience pricks, just like in Star Wars.

Once at dinner, I discreetly spat out this particular bit of meat that tasted funny. Something was wrong with it, but I didn't know what and I didn't want to find out. Towards the end of dinner my brother spotted the rejected bit of meat on my plate, speared it with his fork, and asked if I still wanted it.

My face went blank, and I said no in the most casual and off-hand manner I could muster. There was no time to think. You can have it if you want, I said. Heaven was only a few steps away.

Ah... the good old days. I laughed sooo freaking hard afterwards even my dad was forced to take a stand and chastise me. A while later however, the thrill faded. My brother's face upon learning the truth, orignally etched in my mind under the heading 'Priceless', troubled my conscience to no end.

O, what had I done? What ancient brotherly conventions had I breached? The trust, the betrayal! The shame!

I marched straight up to him later, and muttered a heart-felt apology, which he graciously accepted. The incident scarred me so deeply, I remained nice to him for a full two days.

More recently, however, there was Miss Binder. For the fortunate few among you who don't know, the Research Binder was this mammoth assignment/project where we had to assemble a case for our 'client'. The Binder was such a huge strain on time and energy, I couldn't even summon the mood to write for weeks.

Near the end, I christened the project my Betrothed, and joked to friends that I felt like I was married to the damn thing. To make things more bearable, you understand. Then, I made the fatal mistake of signing off, in an email to my Tutor, as "Hanting, newly-wed to Ms. Binder".

(NO, I was not acting cute. Erase that thought from your mind, I know who you are.)

Lo and Behold the power of Cause and Effect. The next week, I arrived a bit late for class to find my Tutor looking cheated and forlorn, as she stood over this heart-shaped platter of cookies on the table. My jaw dropped.

The more I heard, the tighter the vice around my heart wound. My beloved Tutor, thinking that I had truly gotten married 'to a Caucasian girl called Ms. Beender', had gushed to her husband and colleagues about her lucky student who found time to get married despite the heavy work schedule.

She admired the courage I possessed to settle down, and had her faith in romance re-affirmed. She even selected a special heart-shaped platter to bring her cookies on, to mark the twin joyous events of school term ending and my marraige.

O, what have I done? What ancient teacher-student conventions have I breached? The trust, the betrayal! The shame!

It's a sign. I just know it is. It's high time to revert to the sweet, wholly innocent boy I was 15 years ago. Because if I don't, at this rate, I'm going to get guano from Santa.