hoho what a politically-incorrect title. i expect stiff-lipped old fishes who accidentally google "derriere" and hit my blog to start making not-so-discreet choot-choot sounds with their saliva and pursed lips :D haha. oh well... at least this isn't quite as explicit as the horrendous time when i googled "watersports" trying to find surfing and the lot but... ummm. some really perverted sexual fetishes came out instead. hurhur. go try if you like... but any "bak-jiam" or stye developed from watching those STUFF is not covered under liabilities hehheh. :)
anyway. this morning as i was busy snuffing out priceless minutes of my life trying to cram plant sexual repro (oh no... why is everything i talk about today sexual in nature?!) my cerebellum decided it had about enough of mitosing microsporocytes and hence i digressed to thinking about my unhappy moments. (cos Class 95 was playing nice low tempo oldies that make weepies like me think weepily)
well anyone who knows NANA well ought to know me... well, well. i'm not the kind who nurses grudges and seeks vindication for life... unless you push me right to the edge of sanity and in this case, it's either i go right off the yawning crevasse or you do, so i will hunt for ways to destroy you before you do it to me. To be honest, in all my sheltered 18 years of life, i've only met 2 people in this world outside of my family who have succeeded in making me so angry and despondent that i cry over their actions/words. One's a well educated middle aged guy and one's an 18 year olf female.
I can rightfully say that to my deathbed, I'll remember what they did to leave smouldering brands in my memory. The girl knows full well that she has an enemy in me for life, but the man does not. He is, perhaps, blissfully oblivious that in this corner of the world there exists an individual who is very, very, very mad and injured by his words.
Just 2 days ago my mum casually dropped a hint that he's asking how i'm doing and if i'm well. she knows i hate him, to the bone, to the marrow, to the microscopic osteoblasts that make up the bone, to the very protoplasm in the osteoblasts. she doesn't comprehend the reason why i loathe his very name so much that my face contorts into crimson rage everytime she mentions it, but she knows that i would very much seize every chance to murder the man in cold blood. So she doesn't talk of him, except when she has an agenda. In this case, it was to tell me that the man wants to know if i'm doing badly in my studies, such that his twisted, ugly heart and conscience may rest a little better in the bitter salve of my agony. i simply refuse, upon my dignity and soul, to allow him the satisfaction of his innate perverseness, so i told my mum coldly to tell him that i am doing as well as i ever could have dreamt, and to tell him in no uncertain terms to f off, and that i would never allow myself to stoop to his level of wishing ill upon others, especially a person whom i had once trusted.
People who have lived with me know very well how i would emit shrill shrieks of frustration or mock anger when agitated, but the foul mood or sulking would last for seconds or a day at the most. I suppose that i would qualify to be one of the most phlegmatic individuals among my peers, given my surprisingly short fuse and fuse-blowing time. this can, perhaps, be attributed to the highly restrictive and repressive nature of my childhood, where the dearth of freedom to express my opinions and preferences led to my innate nature to remain quiescent in the face of opposing viewpoints unless ordered to speak. It is only in recent years of RGS education that taught me to be reconciled with my inner voice. irritatingly noisy as it is sometimes, i'm quite thankful to have it to guide me to be myself, once in a while, when i allow it to take centrestage. I learnt from young to counter nasty remarks or stinging rebukes with grins and laughter, which, on one memorable day, led to both my ears being pulled to twice their size at a public bus stop simply because i was grinning as if i had tardive dyskinesia at my very incensed mum. It's not helpful, i have learnt, in the long run, because as i grew older and the remarks grew more caustic i realised it was becoming increasingly agonising to raise the 2 ends of my mouth when being told off or insulted. the proud, indifferent exterior was caving in to the empty vortex of the wounded, insulted interior, and the insults simply piled on with each time that i refused to exhibit my true feelings of hurt or indignation at the persons dealing the damage on me.
but now that the laughter has become such an intrinsic, instinctive response, i don't think i can ever change it. i have, however, learnt not to allow the sadness to pile ontill they drive me insane, to let them flow out in a merciless inner-soul cleansing ritual i perform in the depths of privacy whenever the sadness and burdens get too overwhelming to handle. these crying sessions are few and far apart, but everytime i do it it wrenches me apart, cos i haven't learnt how to stop the hurt from accumulating to such toxic levels, but with each dessicating phase comes the healing part, which reassembles me into what i am before everyone else, except that now i carry the scars of the cleansing permanently engraved on me.
if there's anything that the crying doesn't help, it's humiliation, insult and betrayal.
which the abovementioned 2 individuals have piled onto me, and in knowing what they have done, shall suffer all eternity in my curses, so long as i live, i shall never forget. or forgive.
i guess you people don't really know how much something so commonplace as insults can prompt me to metamorphasize into an unrecognizable beast, but then different people, with their different upbringing, react differently to things. for all we know, someone somewhere could be driven loonytunes by the mention of pudding. so it's all a matter of how diversely we were brought up, and how much we were exposed to as an impressionable child. the more one represses the child, the more inner angst the child grows up to harbour, i suppose.
i cannot strike at the man as yet, because i have a reputation to build. civilisation's primary downfall is that there are hierarchial ladders to climb, no matter how much you try to ignore or refuse to acknowledge them. social status is important, bowing and kissing shit off the shoes of the higher-ups is important, breaking and wrecking other people's lives in order to retain your position on the ladder is important.
anyway, speaking of elders, i counted a total of 3 young and 28 middle to old aged men gawking at my face today from my house to SGH and back.
makeup is deviously deceiving!
