I replied:
Sometimes you feel the fall
As you hit the concrete
This world has no mercy
As you are trampled upon by others feet
It spares not a creature
That it has conceived
But how deep you are in the dirt
Is for you to percieve
Falling is never easy
Riding the high is what we do best
But rising up from the fall
Is the only real test
Can you meet this?
When you can't anticipate the fall
Not the magnitude not the direction
About it you know nothing at all........
Friday, July 29, 2005
Rise and Fall - 1
I had this conversation with my good friend Daenan. It was written in verse. So I shall post the verses as they were written. There are 5 parts to this post. You can read some of his poems on this site.
He wrote:
RISE AND FALL
------------------------------
Carried by the winds of Fate,
the eaglet leaves its nest,
the first flight it makes today,
Free-Fall is its first test.
40 days of dependency,
Fed scraps of Second-hand Kill,
Its time now to take a stand,
Time to feel the thrill.
As it speeds through nothingness,
Sucked down by Gravity,
It spreads its wings to break the fall
and floats to levity.
SO ironic, the twisted lesson
the eaglet teaches us all,
No matter what you do or where you are
there's always Rise in a Fall.
He wrote:
RISE AND FALL
------------------------------
Carried by the winds of Fate,
the eaglet leaves its nest,
the first flight it makes today,
Free-Fall is its first test.
40 days of dependency,
Fed scraps of Second-hand Kill,
Its time now to take a stand,
Time to feel the thrill.
As it speeds through nothingness,
Sucked down by Gravity,
It spreads its wings to break the fall
and floats to levity.
SO ironic, the twisted lesson
the eaglet teaches us all,
No matter what you do or where you are
there's always Rise in a Fall.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
A prize winning essay
This winning piece is by a 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean girl A rather thought provoking piece....what's important in your life?
Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize! A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16- to 18-year-olds, has won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries. In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life. Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter. "Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people in my country," said Amanda, who likes drama, history, and literature and wants to become a lawyer and a politician.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel consequences'. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in 2000, said Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising the competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14- to 15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included students from Australia, Canada and South Africa.
==================================================================
What the Modern Woman Wants : By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.' Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation. 'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter. 'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten. 'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.' Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side. 'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods. Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault. The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son. Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions. The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy.
She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar. The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it. Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...' The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang-it's a Christian home, a very nice one.' The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.' 'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulder sag, and her fingers trace the white seat. 'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?' What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. 'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down... Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!' Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize! A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16- to 18-year-olds, has won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries. In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life. Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter. "Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people in my country," said Amanda, who likes drama, history, and literature and wants to become a lawyer and a politician.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel consequences'. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in 2000, said Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising the competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14- to 15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included students from Australia, Canada and South Africa.
==================================================================
What the Modern Woman Wants : By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.' Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation. 'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter. 'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten. 'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.' Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side. 'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods. Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault. The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son. Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions. The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy.
She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar. The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it. Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...' The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang-it's a Christian home, a very nice one.' The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.' 'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulder sag, and her fingers trace the white seat. 'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?' What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. 'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down... Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!' Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
"Does this make me look fat?"
Any guy must have almost certainly been asked this question and ANYBODY knows that there is no
right answer to this question. But were you ever left stumbling for an answer? Or an
expressionless 'poker' face? Were you ever reprimanded for being too callous in ignoring this
question? Or in giving some kind of a 'ho-hum' answer? Did you ever experiment with the truth?
(As tempting as it may be, just even if you wanted to be different)
My first tryst with this question was when my very near and very very (cuz note the 2 very's)
dear cuz asked me this before going out in the evening. I swear! She was just going for a walk on
a very quotidian promenade filled primarily with sweaty and grunting joggers and people with
dogs! As it was the first time I was put to this third-degree question, not knowing the
implications I replied "slightly". Well the question was re-put abeit with a very stern eye.
Completely missing the point of the re-test and the stern eye, I gave her another once over and
suggested that maybe she could keep her shirt out instead. Needless to say I was ignored for the remainder of the evening and repeated requests to the nature of my misdemeanor were disregarded. I found out later on.
I have had repeated tests since then from near and dear ones, girlfriends, just friends,
acquaintences, colleagues, friend's sisters, women in contention for the role of Mammy two-shoes in the Tom and Jerry remake, sporting wimmen and hellraisers, neighbours and whatnot. I did make it through only a few by the skin of my teeth. If looks could kill, then I was staring down the barrels of a sawn-off shot gun at point blank range!
Believe me the solution you get in the hit sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S. doesn't work at all. You know
what I am talking about right? The scene where Ross and Chandler are discussing 'trick'
questions? It goes something like this
C: She asked me if I looked fat and I looked.....
R(interrupting): You looked!!??? Dude you NEVER look.
C: OK.R(continuing): Do I look fat? No! It should be like that. Instant. Reflex.
I tried this once and was met with a stony look and "You never even looked!" I did try defending myself with "I don't need to look", but you can guess how that turned out.
You can also refer to this place for more help.
As most of the analysts to this question will tell you, the safest thing to do is to have a severe epileptic seizure just before that question is finished being posed. If you can slip a sly finger down your throat without your Significant Other (SO) noticing and hurl, you may just get away with it. However this is very unadvisable when you have finally selected the matching tie after
"You are kidding me right?"
"Why don't you just put a red ball on your nose?"
"It looks like your suit is having an Orgasm"
...and then
"Where is the one I gave you the last Christmas?"
DA WINNING TIE!!
(But that is another story...)
On the other hand if you really think that your SO's dress is too... yunnoh... well unappropriate you can also tell them the truth. This also helps in getting you out of any social events that you would much rather eschew. Another very important aspect is the age group you are involved in. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that my 10 year old ex-sweet cousin was also very fashion conscious. Anyways she spilt some syrup down the front of that top. Well that showed her! We are all in tune with the 15 to the 30 (I assume that the thought process would be the same) year olds. Well if an "older woman" asks me this question (if ever) I go uhhhmm... and she in all her infinite wisdom and goodness smiles serenely and says ok. I haven't found out yet what that means. If you know the answer do let me know.
right answer to this question. But were you ever left stumbling for an answer? Or an
expressionless 'poker' face? Were you ever reprimanded for being too callous in ignoring this
question? Or in giving some kind of a 'ho-hum' answer? Did you ever experiment with the truth?
(As tempting as it may be, just even if you wanted to be different)
My first tryst with this question was when my very near and very very (cuz note the 2 very's)
dear cuz asked me this before going out in the evening. I swear! She was just going for a walk on
a very quotidian promenade filled primarily with sweaty and grunting joggers and people with
dogs! As it was the first time I was put to this third-degree question, not knowing the
implications I replied "slightly". Well the question was re-put abeit with a very stern eye.
Completely missing the point of the re-test and the stern eye, I gave her another once over and
suggested that maybe she could keep her shirt out instead. Needless to say I was ignored for the remainder of the evening and repeated requests to the nature of my misdemeanor were disregarded. I found out later on.
I have had repeated tests since then from near and dear ones, girlfriends, just friends,
acquaintences, colleagues, friend's sisters, women in contention for the role of Mammy two-shoes in the Tom and Jerry remake, sporting wimmen and hellraisers, neighbours and whatnot. I did make it through only a few by the skin of my teeth. If looks could kill, then I was staring down the barrels of a sawn-off shot gun at point blank range!
Believe me the solution you get in the hit sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S. doesn't work at all. You know
what I am talking about right? The scene where Ross and Chandler are discussing 'trick'
questions? It goes something like this
C: She asked me if I looked fat and I looked.....
R(interrupting): You looked!!??? Dude you NEVER look.
C: OK.R(continuing): Do I look fat? No! It should be like that. Instant. Reflex.
I tried this once and was met with a stony look and "You never even looked!" I did try defending myself with "I don't need to look", but you can guess how that turned out.
You can also refer to this place for more help.
As most of the analysts to this question will tell you, the safest thing to do is to have a severe epileptic seizure just before that question is finished being posed. If you can slip a sly finger down your throat without your Significant Other (SO) noticing and hurl, you may just get away with it. However this is very unadvisable when you have finally selected the matching tie after
"You are kidding me right?"
"Why don't you just put a red ball on your nose?"
"It looks like your suit is having an Orgasm"
...and then
"Where is the one I gave you the last Christmas?"
DA WINNING TIE!!
(But that is another story...)
On the other hand if you really think that your SO's dress is too... yunnoh... well unappropriate you can also tell them the truth. This also helps in getting you out of any social events that you would much rather eschew. Another very important aspect is the age group you are involved in. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that my 10 year old ex-sweet cousin was also very fashion conscious. Anyways she spilt some syrup down the front of that top. Well that showed her! We are all in tune with the 15 to the 30 (I assume that the thought process would be the same) year olds. Well if an "older woman" asks me this question (if ever) I go uhhhmm... and she in all her infinite wisdom and goodness smiles serenely and says ok. I haven't found out yet what that means. If you know the answer do let me know.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
I don't know if I want to stay...
I got this forward from a friend called T.
The name is good, the brand is big
But the work I do is that of a pig
The work or the brand, what is my way?
I don't know if I should stay.
To work, they have set their own way
Nobody will care to hear what I say
My will be NULL, they wont change their way
I don't know if I should stay.
The project is in a critical stage
But to do good work, this is the age
This dilemma is killing me day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The money is good ,the place is great
But the development is at a very small rate
Should I go for the work, or wait for pay
I don't know if I should stay.
The managers don't know what they talk
The team doesn't know where they walk
That's a bad situation, what say?
I don't know if I should stay.
I can go to any other place
But what if I get the same disgrace
I cant keep switching day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The -ves are more, the +ves are less
Then why have this unnecessary mess
Should I continue walking their way,
still wondering should I stay.
I replied:
Your heart will lead you on
Your feet will find their own way home
Wander a little and enjoy it
It is not a game with only one way out.
The way out will be the best
Something you could never imagine
Not even in a million years
Do freak out on the ride though
The situation ONLY depends on you
Your perception and your imagination
Your grit and your determination
It is your fight and your win
For in the result lies the reward
Of the seed that is sown
And the harvest that you reap is none
NONE but your very own!
Then she wrote back:
Life, my dear is a game in itself.....
you can just go to right..n not to left....;)
The desions are not taken by heart but by brain..
It will think of only a short/ long term gain....
It is true, that the SITUATION depends on youself,
Faith too plays an important role.
For reaching anywhere yourself
You need to sit up and work towards your goal.
Sometimes you do not see the result of the seed sown,
but you need to keep the faith and thats ur very own,
you can only believe that you can achieve
Then only u can say the results are the fruits I receive....
I like the last verse. Don't you?
The name is good, the brand is big
But the work I do is that of a pig
The work or the brand, what is my way?
I don't know if I should stay.
To work, they have set their own way
Nobody will care to hear what I say
My will be NULL, they wont change their way
I don't know if I should stay.
The project is in a critical stage
But to do good work, this is the age
This dilemma is killing me day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The money is good ,the place is great
But the development is at a very small rate
Should I go for the work, or wait for pay
I don't know if I should stay.
The managers don't know what they talk
The team doesn't know where they walk
That's a bad situation, what say?
I don't know if I should stay.
I can go to any other place
But what if I get the same disgrace
I cant keep switching day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The -ves are more, the +ves are less
Then why have this unnecessary mess
Should I continue walking their way,
still wondering should I stay.
I replied:
Your heart will lead you on
Your feet will find their own way home
Wander a little and enjoy it
It is not a game with only one way out.
The way out will be the best
Something you could never imagine
Not even in a million years
Do freak out on the ride though
The situation ONLY depends on you
Your perception and your imagination
Your grit and your determination
It is your fight and your win
For in the result lies the reward
Of the seed that is sown
And the harvest that you reap is none
NONE but your very own!
Then she wrote back:
Life, my dear is a game in itself.....
you can just go to right..n not to left....;)
The desions are not taken by heart but by brain..
It will think of only a short/ long term gain....
It is true, that the SITUATION depends on youself,
Faith too plays an important role.
For reaching anywhere yourself
You need to sit up and work towards your goal.
Sometimes you do not see the result of the seed sown,
but you need to keep the faith and thats ur very own,
you can only believe that you can achieve
Then only u can say the results are the fruits I receive....
I like the last verse. Don't you?
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