Class

With at least a couple of countries celebrating their respective National or Independence Day during this period, there have been many things going on with the general theme. I semi-watched a movie that I have seen over ten years ago – Gandhi. I think almost anyone watching would feel the strong indignation about being treated as a second-class (if not lower classed) citizen just watching the main character in the beginning minutes of the movie.

Subordination, when forced upon others, and making others feel inferior is wholly despicable and intolerable by me. I hate how, for centuries and centuries, a section of the human population on this Earth, not just any one country, is treated as second class. This ties inevitably to my thoughts of females - women and girls. The second-class beings for centuries… millennia. Of course, some have it better and some have it worse.

I feel anger… so much anger for what has been going on and what has been allowed to carry on, I am almost always lost for words. I feel even more anger when people have been brainwashed and brainwash others in their turn. I hear mothers telling their daughters what their mothers or friends tell them. I urge each individual (not the collection of females, but each individual) to think. Yes, that is what your mind is for.

I remember being on the Women’s Committee as a member before serving as the Women’s Campaign Representative, then the Women’s Campus Representative many years ago, listening to the Women President saying, “Do they realise that women struggled long and hard to matter. There were some who starved and chained themselves to railings just to get a vote. And what do women do now? Do they vote? Do they care?” I think of the women and girls who care nought for what they have and what they may achieve. They do not realise that many have fought and endured in the past so that they have a choice today not to be subservient, not have to be treated like a property that can be bought and sold similar to a camel or a horse, not to have bound feet, not to walk behind their men if they are allowed out of their homes at all, not to be able to have any say at all about anything, or even have any rights. All they care about seems to be about themselves and their immediate family/friends, the latest fashion, who's sleeping with who, whether they are beautiful or sexy, the latest way to lose weight, whether they are they rich or famous, etc. Do they care about the starving children if their own are fed with expensive food? Do they care about abused women if they are well and protected? Do they know and do they mind? If they do not, then who will? Leave it to the men?

I do not mean to let my feelings of anger and injustice spill onto pages on the Web as with some people who utilise the Web to spit venom. So, this is a very minute and controlled portion of my thoughts. I have… or rather, I should have learnt to divorce myself from feeling when having to deal with facts.

I have been trained to counsel. If anonymous female callers on the Helpline wished to relate anything they want to me, I was not to appear shocked. If people confide their problems in me, I let them and try to appear calm as a rock, or at least be of assistance. I can be there to help impartially. But I am human, and I cannot help having feelings.

When a female student told me (between my term as Campaign Rep and Campus Rep) that she had gone to the police because her boyfriend had dared to hit her on campus, I asked her what else she wanted to do about it in an adequately cool manner. I accepted and respected her decision not to press charges. She said she just wanted the police to have some record of him in case he ever did it again to another girl. In my mind, I was thinking, “What if he did it in another country? What if the next girl doesn’t report?” and many other more malicious thoughts such as, “If I have him to myself, I’ll kick him so hard, he’d probably never have children (or an erection)!”. When I think about rapists, incestuous fathers, wife bashers, etc. I am sometimes in a dilemma as to what to do with them after I manage to cut of their testicles and penises with a rather blunt knife. Should I stuff their dismembered parts down their throats or mince those up and feed them to the dogs? Hypothetically speaking, you understand.

You would not imagine my wonder when a more senior lady calmly tried to reason and explain to me certain “facts”. It’s very natural, you see. It’s something we have to understand and tolerate. Men feel stressed, tired (poor souls), and upset (aww…). Do you think Mrs XXX doesn’t get hit by Mr YYY sometime? Stupid, ignorant woman. And there I was trying to tell her of her self-worth… that she need not have tolerated, and no longer needed to tolerate domestic violence and insults. When second-class people believe that they are second-class, hope is almost lost. It’s like one slave saying to the other there is no need to learn how to read and write because slaves don’t read and write. It’s like coloured people accepting quietly that they are only allowed in third class cabins and are not able to stand tall and walk beside their “lords”. Only when they feel something is wrong, not how they should be, will they seek help… or hesitate to. Those people need to have a listen to “Girl” by Destiny’s Child. If you don’t have friends, I urge you to look to people who can help. There are good samaritans and people who care everywhere, capable of keeping things discreet while offering assistance from a listening ear to shelter and legal advice. If you don’t know any, leave me a comment. I shall not publish it but will reply to you with the information you need. Please, do not turn a blind eye or a deaf ear anymore if you or anyone you know needs help.

#E%&!!#$&a$@#;ap;%#%#&@*% if I ever bow and submit to a man (or even a woman) like a lower grade being. Try trampling a weed and it may wrap itself around you so tightly, it may crush and suffocate you rather than die quietly. The last one who tried to inflict his "attitude" on me was cut up into many small pieces with my words and put in his place... and he still avoids contact with me until now. (That is not really the normal me, but the accumulation of bad feelings sometimes find an outlet.) We are all equal citizens of this planet and the colonisation or domination has to stop. I say a silent prayer for the people who’ve stood up and got broken. There are women, even in my time, who set off to become bright university students in medical or law school, or just to lead good lives who get beaten up or gang-raped in some "developing" countries (and the "developed" ones too) to show them that they are vulnerable and weak… that their pursuit of their ideals are stupid. “Just see how easily beaten you are!” seems to be the message. Some victims even have hate messages sprayed or written on their bodies.

In the struggle for independence from colonisation and slavery, for democracy, for equality, and for freedom, there have always been casualties. That does not mean that one side has lost. One only loses when one gives up the struggle. What I am hoping for is not a war. “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” It is not right to “fight fire with fire”, as the old saying goes.

What I am hoping for is an awakening. Sisters, please wake from your slumber, regardless of whether you’re having a beautiful dream or a nightmare. Once you’re awake, perhaps you may gently nudge the other half of the human population to wake up as well. If they require more than a gentle nudge, do as you deem fit, because I have faith in you and your wisdom. Do not demean and underestimate yourselves.

Nobody is second-class.

I Am Sick!

Just wanted to complain

Understanding The Hierachy

Heard on the airwaves:

"My father said that fathers and mothers are like Generals and Majors. He is the General so he makes the general decisions. She is the Major so she makes the major decisions."

Quote

My boss loves to insert quotes (and make additions to them) in emails to the team. Here's one of them.

"A weed is a flower in disguise."
"Show the flower in you."

Other People's Blog

Upon a friend's recommendation, I started reading someone's blog... and I really do enjoy it. It seems to be rather popular and the site has a loyal group (ever growing in numbers) of fans from various countries reading it.

The first time I read it, I was stunned into dumb silence so much so that I could not laugh. I was just, "Oh... My... God!" *choke*

I have read more of his entries since and was reading some of his latest while having lunch in front of my PC today. Yes, I decided to do something I liked over lunch today rather than to make small talk with others, or continue working.

There were some stifled shocked laughters and shaking of my head in amazement as I read. Everything was just so juicily politically incorrect. I marvelled at the guy and his balls (metaphorically now, don't get too excited). I had silly grins on my face when reading some shockers (Inferring a certain Dr M has PMS? Creating your own DIY World Cup football with sanitary pads? Taking silly photos with wax figures?)

He does not put on airs, doesn't mind making fun of himself and things, does not seem to care about appearing stupid in doing what we know would be fun doing but refrain from in order to "maintain a respectable and cool image". He does not dramatise things too much and very often carelessly makes himself sound like a stupid, callous and uncouth person (reading between the lines, you know he most probably isn't) poking fun and exclaiming about things.

Very fun and refreshing.

Moments Of Enlightenment...Maybe Not

Every now and then, I am just bowled over by my own stupidity. Whenever this happens, I sometimes am just so floored, I just need to step back and laugh in amazement when considering myself and my actions. I wonder how, in the world of positive gene selection and survival of the fittest, I managed to "survive" so long without being taken out of circulation.

Just before midnight on Wednesday night found me standing in my pjamas and a jacket near the rubbish dump just outside of my place, looking at the bottom of one of the bins and contemplating.

I took out my trash in the morning and put them in one particular bin when it was still almost empty. Just before drifting off to sleep, I thought of a certain document my bank sent to me, that I retrieved from my mailbox and left somewhere when I returned from work the previous day. I have a tendency to forget what I did when I am tired or busy, or both. So, it was no surprise when I sat up in bed and could not recall where that document went. I looked around my place and tried to think through the sleepy haze as to where it could be. Still, it was nowhere to be found. I stopped and looked at my dining table and wondered if I could have swept that piece of paper along with unwanted pieces of pamplets into the bin when clearing out the clutter in the morning. I snuck out from my front door (had to close it twice when I heard voices... probably neighbours returning late) with a jacket over what I was wearing (still looked really funny) and went to the smelly venue.

So, I was just standing there, trying to make out which plastic bags of rubbish were the two that I took out in the moring. I debated whether I wanted it enough to make a grab for it. I turned and walked away, then looked back. It didn't seem that hard. I regretted choosing the jacket I was wearing because it was quite pricey. The most expensive one I had and a reward for myself after a rather good month. I thought, what the heck, and tried to tip the bin a bit, stood on tip-toes and tried reaching the bottom few bags. I was thinking how stupid I'd look to anyone coming out of the lifts nearby. My jacket touched the inside of the bin a bit but my fingers just managed to graze the top of the bags.

I stepped back and let go. I can ask the bank to send me another copy. It was not worth getting myself or my jacket dirty and looking like a fool to my new neighbours, with whom I'd probably have to live with for some time.

I went home, washed my hands, plonked myself in bed, called myself stupid and proceeded to sleep.

It's a wonder I managed to get through life up till now.

Something To Think About

I've seen this email forwarded around before. It arrived in my mailbox again and I thought that it would be good to share it since it is somewhat relevant to the message in the "Get Real" post.

It reads:

"
If the population of the Earth was reduced to that of a small town
with 100 people, it would look something like this:

57 Asians
21 Europeans
14 Americans (northern and southern)
8 Africans

52 women
48 men

70 coloured-skins
30 caucasians

89 heterosexuals
11 homosexuals

6 people would own 59% of the whole world wealth and all of them will
be from the United States of America

80 would have bad living conditions

70 would be uneducated

50 underfed

1 would die

2 would be born

1 would have a computer

1 (only one) will have higher education

When you look at the world from this point of view, you can see there is a real need for solidarity, understanding, patience and education.


Also think about the following:

This morning, if you woke up healthy, then you are happier than the 1 million people that will not survive next week.


If you never suffered a war,
the loneliness of the jail cell, the agony of torture,
or hunger,
you are happier than 500 million people in the world.

If you can enter into a church (mosque) without fear of jail or death,
you are happier than 3 million people i n the world.

If there is a food in your fridge,
you have shoes and clothes,
you have bed and a roof,
you are richer then 75% of the people in th e world.

If you have bank account, money in your wallet and some coins in the money-box,
you belong to the 8% of the people on the world, who are well-to-do.

If you read this you are three times blessed because:
1. Somebody just thought of you.
2. You don't belong to the 200 million people that cannot read.
3. and... you have a computer!


As somebody once said:
- work as if you don't need money,
- love as if you've never been hurt,
- dance as if nobody can see you,
- sing as if no one can hear,
- live as if the Earth was a heaven.
"

Appearance

I looked into the mirror and pondered over my reflection. Is there something I should change?

People keep asking if I am, or assuming that I am, still a student. What part of "Working Professional" am I missing here?

Of course, I dress down during weekends and do not wear cosmetics (or even moisturisers) unless there is a reason for it. Most of the time, I think, "Why?". That's also the answer I give when my mum stops me just as I am walking towards the door, asking me to put on some lipstick... or a nicer shirt.

Once, while buying some newspapers with my mother near her place, I was asked if I had finished schooling yet by the matronly shopkeeper. My mother heard and asked that women how old did she think I was. She made a few guesses in the teenage range, and my mum jokingly suggested that I should give her a treat for being so flattering. The shopkeeper gasped, "You mean, you are over 20?". Oh, for crying out loud! Are you kidding me?

The housing agent representing my former landlord probably made similar assumptions too. After passing the keys back to him and discussing when my deposits can be refunded, he asked me on the way out, "So, where are you from?". The answer to that was followed by another question, "So, are you studying?". I smiled politely and said that I am already working, wondering if I had to show my business card to convince him. He seemed a bit puzzled and did a calculative but discreet "once-over" of me from head to toe. Yeah, high school drop-outs working in department stores wouldn't be able to afford staying here, especially without any housemates to share the rent with.

I also recall that someone I met on tour recently appeared visibly surprised that I was older than he was.

People who have been curious enough to voice out their thoughts have made me realise how I am perceived. There are benefits and drawbacks involved. For example, I can plead with all angelic innocence and appeal for my traffic fine to be reduced. However, I shall have to slap on those cosmetics and hair products the beauty industry spends so much money advertising, and get those powersuits and knock-them-dead heels when I require negotiation power and to be taken seriously.

I take a little of the last comment back. If I so much as raise my voice a little at my trainees (don't get me wrong, this happens once in a blue moon, and only with shocked discoveries of their errors when I am stressed), even my colleagues around me gets a little jolt to attention because it varies quite a lot from my usual easy-going manner. I always remind myself not to lose my cool and remain nice even when I am stressed or upset. I know my trainees and colleagues have due respect for me, and it is just excessive to make them fear me. I guess it just depends on how well one knows me. For strangers, I probably need to give them more cues that I am not a pushover with the necessary armour (otherwise known as fashion and accessories).