May 15 2008: QOTW: I Actually Am Only A Young’un
Categories: Life & Q.O.T.W. | 14 Comments
I seem to give off an aura online of being more mature, or more adult, than I actually am.
Rachael was bemused to find out tonight that I’m actually twenty-one years of age, rather than the twenty-three years of age that she had thought of me as. I may or may not have sent her off into an existential crisis about her maturity level considering how different we are as people despite being only a few months apart in age, but well, that’s a story for her to tell.
All throughout my life, I’ve always been physically mistaken for someone at least five years older than I am in actuality. When I was thirteen, I could get into R-rated films at the cinema. When I was fourteen, I could buy alcohol. When I was fifteen, I was approached by thirty-something-year-olds who thought I was of legal age to fornicate. I’m now asked by people what my career is, like I look as though I’m already working on long-term career goals.
Part of this may be mammary-related, but I think it’s largely to do with a certain ‘look’ that I always have in my eyes. Apparently I have a way of looking at people which, while I technically give no emotions away on my face, manages to make them think that I’m either undressing them with my eyes, or am reliving some past couplings in my mind. It’s a supremely adult look, full of smoldering seduction. Some have called it cheeky.
Mentally however, I still think of myself as somewhat immature. I find toilet humour hilarious and I could probably quite easily slot right back into the hallway politics of high school. Writing this blog makes me appear more mature than I actually am, as I’m able to discuss fiscal responsibility, political affairs, and bodily hygiene in a coherent and eloquent manner without resorting to the giggling that would normally characterise my discussion of such topics in person. Considering the question of moi through the perspective of this blog, and this blog only (e.g. disregard any IM chats we may have shared, any text messaging, and the like):
Question of the Week: Based only on what you read in this blog, and without knowing my actual age, how old would you have said I am?
May 14 2008: Unfeeling Chinese Bitch
Categories: Asian-ness & Friends | 14 Comments
I seem to lack that gene that some people have - the one that makes it possible for one to be sympathetic, empathetic, to say “Aw honey, I’m so sorry you’re going through this *hugs*”, to lend an ear to people’s troubles. I’m about twenty million times more likely to expel gas from my anus, or yell out “Boobies!” in order to provide comedic material to defuse a situation that’s become too sentimental and/or emotional.
It may be that I’m inherently Chinese in my approach to emotions - we (please note, huge generalisation coming up) are generally a reticent race. We don’t do emotions, at least not on the surface. To verbalise feelings is pretty much taboo - we show our actions instead, whether it be by parents cooking a veritable feast for their children to eat, or by children bringing parents a cup of good quality green tea (with tea leaves, not tea bags!) and giving them a shoulder massage when they’re tired. We show affection, we don’t talk about it.
Parents won’t hug their children, or tell them that they’re loved. It’s partially superstitious (if you compliment a child too much on their achievements, or love them too obviously, then “the gods” will strike you and your loved ones down for being boastful and vain), but I think it’s largely to do with the belief that criticism achieves better results than encouragement. Growing up, I was five times more likely to be lectured on the importance of academia and/or the importance of marrying a good Chinese boy, than I was to be shown a typical display of familial affection. I grew up in a family without hugs or kisses…yet never really felt deprived of love, per se, it was merely wrapped up in the guise of concern about my future.
To bring it back to the initial discussion of responding to other’s emotions and cries for help - this type of Sino-esque reticence on my part has often led others to believe that I don’t care about whatever dire situation they’re finding themselves in. This is simply not true - I do care, I just don’t feel the need to tell you so directly. You are my friend - it goes without saying that I care about what happens to you. However, rather than making you feel worse by aiding and abetting you in dwelling over gloomy thoughts, I can make things better by making you laugh, by cracking a joke, by telling you about the time I was caught naked in a public park by police officers.
To say all those other cheesy phrases of sympathy would simply make me uncomfortable, and though I recognise that the situation may not be about me and my feelings, constant dwelling upon their various issues can do nothing but create further discontent. Positive thoughts makes positive people!
May 13 2008: Bed Battles
Categories: Body Stuff | 11 Comments
I’m terrible to sleep with. Not of course, in that sense, because I rock in all things relating to that, but in a literal “sleep in the same bed” sense. I tend to:
- Twist and turn.1
- Steal the covers.
- Push people off the bed if they snore or sleep-talk.
- …snore and sleep-talk.
This type of behaviour is only exacerbated when you try to fit two people who have exactly the same sleeping behaviours on the one small single bed. It ends up being a struggle for power and domination by both people, with no one coming out the victor. Both parties eventually conceding a draw, reconciliating as best they know how.
A larger bed may help. I do personally have a queen size bed…but can you imagine the look on my parental figure’s faces if I were to bring someone to stay overnight? In my bed? Especially if the ‘reconciliation’ happens as often as it does? (Speaking of which, my mother has yet to say a word to me about my personal massager.)
1This one time, at Scout camp? We were sleeping in a circle outside, around the campfire. Waking up the next morning, I found myself in the middle of the woods. I had literally rolled and turned so much in my sleep that I ended up 100 metres away from where I was originally!