Acceptance is a heroic attempt. It is one of the hardest things to do next to Patience and Faith.
This is also why I'm not a superhero because I have very little of any.
I had a thought the other day... a guilty thought. The sort that makes you think 'Shit...'
So shit....
I'm guilt-ridden for not accepting my mates for who they are, when they have supported me at every turn of my life for being me. The eccentric, extremely difficult, loud and vocal me. Yeap, they'd be the one right now to say, 'Aww, you're alright... don't be too harsh on yourself and (possibly) we love you for who you are.' And that makes me sink even lower in shits.
This all, of course, started from me. Me -- for going through all these series of mind-altering, character-analysing seminars. Me -- for pushing the brand of new psycho transforming ideas down my pals' throats. Me -- for believing that my AHAs should be everyone's AHAs.
Not everyone gets the same epiphanies.
I'm not smarter than everyone else. I'm not any ounce more superior. I'm not any chance better.
Acceptance is not about scraping people out of their comfort zones. It is accepting them for who they are and supporting their ambition or maybe even the lack of it as their own unique personality. If the whole world was made out of leaders, we'd all end up killing one another. If the whole world was made out of shakers, well... I guess the whole world would bounce out of its sphere. We need the yin for the yang, the yang for the yin.
UN-acceptance is the reason why many marriages end up in divorces. Of course that opinion itself may be very off track since I've never been married or in a 'stable relationship' before but women who want to change their Ray Romanos (Everybody Loves Raymond) into stepford husbands could be in love for the wrong reason. Personally, 6 out of 10 people I know use more words to gripe about their boyfriends/ husbands than love. I'm actually quite happy to know that I indeed do know 40% sane happy women.
The top 5 things they complain about their imperfect men are:
1. 'He's not romantic enough.'
2. 'He doesn't care about his appearance enough.'
3. 'He doesn't spend time with me enough.'
4. 'He doesn't spend on me enough.'
5. 'He doesn't listen enough.'
Take note that there's repetition of the word 'enough'. (Whatever is 'enough' anyway?)
People who don't know acceptance, don't understand (enough). Let's use me for an example. I don't think I've taken the time to understand what my friends are really like. It doesn't mean I don't care, but it's just that I've didn't care enough. I've been a blardy selfish arse.
So this is to me mates. Thanks for withstanding my crap. You've done well, superheroes....
Friday, October 27, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
Snacks & Snippets (Random Thoughts)
Hrmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....
Seeing I have an hour to kill, I should blog for the sake of blogging.
Work is at an odd hour today - 5p.m. till 9.30p.m. on a Friday night. It's late night shopping and everyone has got their pay cashed in. Ka Ching. By end of tomorrow, the weeks' pay is gone. Why? Because tomorrow, the horses are out of their dens and on to the tracks. It's Caulfied Cup time!
See the pretty ladies in stilletoes; their fancy bird-feathered hats; the champagne glasses bubbling with Moet & Chandon; their pretty painted smiles and starry white teeth.
See the men in their polished shoes, smoothed out hair, gleaming manicured fingernails; their practiced jokes; their alcohol breath; the black and blue smoke coming out from their credit cards.
Ah... spring.
And how do we measure an act of decent kindness?
Is it a smile to a stranger? A hug to a mourner? The chair to an elder? Or is it the value of generosity you put in the bowl of a beggar?
I was standing in KFC last night. We were ordering dinner. A scruffy looking guy asked us for a dollar. My companion asked, 'Why do you need a dollar? Is it for drugs?'. The toothless twenty-something man said no. But instead of giving him money, my friend bought him a meal. The act I witness, is something I read in books, made in movies, imagined in dreams. If he was trying to impress me, I was. But seeing that it wasn't a date, I view it as an act of genuine thoughtfulness and generosity.
The scruffy toothless young man wolved down his Zinger meal. Walked out of the door without saying a word of thanks. Came back in again and started where he left: asking patrons for a dollar to spare.
My parents have always taught the kids to be nice to the people you meet. It pays to be nice. You never know when fate will bite you in the rear end.
I was waiting for the doors to open. 9 a.m. shifts aren't my personal favourites. Another girl was there. She looked familiar to me. Where have I seen her before? School? She's definitely Malaysian. We exchanged niceties. I told her what I thought, found out she's three years younger than I am (rules out school, I rarely remember anyone apart from my year). Work? Hrm. Nope, never worked with magazines.
Waitaminute, did I say magazine? But of course! She was one of the finalist for the first seventeen Magazine Star Search! She did her cheer leading act on stage. Helps her mom with her batik designing business. Sister to four other siblings.
A few thousand miles away from the streets of KL. Three years later. I meet my past in front of Sportsgirl in Melbourne, Australia at (now) 9.10 a.m. on a rather warm spring morning.
Seeing I have an hour to kill, I should blog for the sake of blogging.
Work is at an odd hour today - 5p.m. till 9.30p.m. on a Friday night. It's late night shopping and everyone has got their pay cashed in. Ka Ching. By end of tomorrow, the weeks' pay is gone. Why? Because tomorrow, the horses are out of their dens and on to the tracks. It's Caulfied Cup time!
See the pretty ladies in stilletoes; their fancy bird-feathered hats; the champagne glasses bubbling with Moet & Chandon; their pretty painted smiles and starry white teeth.
See the men in their polished shoes, smoothed out hair, gleaming manicured fingernails; their practiced jokes; their alcohol breath; the black and blue smoke coming out from their credit cards.
Ah... spring.
And how do we measure an act of decent kindness?
Is it a smile to a stranger? A hug to a mourner? The chair to an elder? Or is it the value of generosity you put in the bowl of a beggar?
I was standing in KFC last night. We were ordering dinner. A scruffy looking guy asked us for a dollar. My companion asked, 'Why do you need a dollar? Is it for drugs?'. The toothless twenty-something man said no. But instead of giving him money, my friend bought him a meal. The act I witness, is something I read in books, made in movies, imagined in dreams. If he was trying to impress me, I was. But seeing that it wasn't a date, I view it as an act of genuine thoughtfulness and generosity.
The scruffy toothless young man wolved down his Zinger meal. Walked out of the door without saying a word of thanks. Came back in again and started where he left: asking patrons for a dollar to spare.
My parents have always taught the kids to be nice to the people you meet. It pays to be nice. You never know when fate will bite you in the rear end.
I was waiting for the doors to open. 9 a.m. shifts aren't my personal favourites. Another girl was there. She looked familiar to me. Where have I seen her before? School? She's definitely Malaysian. We exchanged niceties. I told her what I thought, found out she's three years younger than I am (rules out school, I rarely remember anyone apart from my year). Work? Hrm. Nope, never worked with magazines.
Waitaminute, did I say magazine? But of course! She was one of the finalist for the first seventeen Magazine Star Search! She did her cheer leading act on stage. Helps her mom with her batik designing business. Sister to four other siblings.
A few thousand miles away from the streets of KL. Three years later. I meet my past in front of Sportsgirl in Melbourne, Australia at (now) 9.10 a.m. on a rather warm spring morning.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Neigh
I've just been had by my friend. And to make matters even worse, she used my own technique against me. I mean, it's like having a parent being told off by their kids and you can't rebutt because it's right y'know?
Sugar.
It went like this:
Her parents made her go to a lantern festival. She didn't want to go. She kicked up a fuss. Her parents fussed at her kicks.
I'm stricken with envy here because I've been pining to go for a lantern party. My other friends have been sending me invites from home and I tell ya, it's sure isn't nice to feel so welcomed. What's the point of it when you can't be there?
But that's besides the point, I love mid-autumn festivals. It's that one time in the year you're allowed to play with fire. You get to see beautiful floating luminescent bubbles on one end and a big kid at the other.
The year before, when the monkees were away, I'd accumulate a mass of lanterns and lit them up in the garden singlehandedly anyway. Last year, I had to slave over a story due the next day, my friends called at my gate with lanterns. This time the monkees were only too delighted and since I'd burnt the lanterns the previous year (Note: private bonfire), we used an indecent battery-operated Ultraman lantern and walked into the dark night with a bunch of rowdy teenagers. One other year, we had the Argentinian neighbours put up lanterns in their mango trees while we sipped Chinese tea, munched on mooncakes, and swapped local legends till late. At college, my mates and I decided to throw it at an Indian classmate's house and while we ordered pizza, we vandalized her driveway with rows of candles.
There are many other sentimental moments I can think of about mid-autumn festival. I can still smell the freshly baked mooncakes and the evening sun streaming through the windows. I can see my mom making a fresh batch with the delicately carved wooden mold. I can taste the spices, nuts, egg yolks, sweet pastries in my mind. It rules over Chinese New Year, Chap Go Meh, Hanukkah and even Christmas.
So you see, it has a very very very special place in my heart.
But I digress.
So since I'd openly expressed my dissatisfaction to my friends on msn chat, they suggested why don't I just throw one?
And before I knew it, I came up with those sugary stuff that you'd know is bad for you but it still comes out of your mouth anyway... I gave all sorts of excuses: no time, no money, no friends, no this, no that... And you know what? You nag your friends enough, they'd throw the same s*** back. So I had an earful from my friends. No time? Make time. No money? Make money. No friends. Make friends. Call it karma right? Man... it sucked.
So folks, I thank you for your straight-face kick-ass honesty. You know when to call a bucket a bucket. You know when to call a hose a hose. You know when to call a spade a spade.
I'm coming down my high horse.
High horses don't agree with me anyway.
[NOTE: Planning & discussion for Mid-Autumn party is currently in progress]
Sugar.
It went like this:
Her parents made her go to a lantern festival. She didn't want to go. She kicked up a fuss. Her parents fussed at her kicks.
I'm stricken with envy here because I've been pining to go for a lantern party. My other friends have been sending me invites from home and I tell ya, it's sure isn't nice to feel so welcomed. What's the point of it when you can't be there?
But that's besides the point, I love mid-autumn festivals. It's that one time in the year you're allowed to play with fire. You get to see beautiful floating luminescent bubbles on one end and a big kid at the other.
The year before, when the monkees were away, I'd accumulate a mass of lanterns and lit them up in the garden singlehandedly anyway. Last year, I had to slave over a story due the next day, my friends called at my gate with lanterns. This time the monkees were only too delighted and since I'd burnt the lanterns the previous year (Note: private bonfire), we used an indecent battery-operated Ultraman lantern and walked into the dark night with a bunch of rowdy teenagers. One other year, we had the Argentinian neighbours put up lanterns in their mango trees while we sipped Chinese tea, munched on mooncakes, and swapped local legends till late. At college, my mates and I decided to throw it at an Indian classmate's house and while we ordered pizza, we vandalized her driveway with rows of candles.
There are many other sentimental moments I can think of about mid-autumn festival. I can still smell the freshly baked mooncakes and the evening sun streaming through the windows. I can see my mom making a fresh batch with the delicately carved wooden mold. I can taste the spices, nuts, egg yolks, sweet pastries in my mind. It rules over Chinese New Year, Chap Go Meh, Hanukkah and even Christmas.
So you see, it has a very very very special place in my heart.
But I digress.
So since I'd openly expressed my dissatisfaction to my friends on msn chat, they suggested why don't I just throw one?
And before I knew it, I came up with those sugary stuff that you'd know is bad for you but it still comes out of your mouth anyway... I gave all sorts of excuses: no time, no money, no friends, no this, no that... And you know what? You nag your friends enough, they'd throw the same s*** back. So I had an earful from my friends. No time? Make time. No money? Make money. No friends. Make friends. Call it karma right? Man... it sucked.
So folks, I thank you for your straight-face kick-ass honesty. You know when to call a bucket a bucket. You know when to call a hose a hose. You know when to call a spade a spade.
I'm coming down my high horse.
High horses don't agree with me anyway.
[NOTE: Planning & discussion for Mid-Autumn party is currently in progress]