the long one.
one blog is enough. enjoy.
-----------------------------------------
Daddy Bites Parts 1 & 2
It sounds overly sappy, but at times, I watch fathers play with their children on the playground, or hanging out with their kids at the mall and I want to be like them. That’s right. Hold back your consternation: I’d love to be a father. While most guys would probably shudder at the thought of such an atrocity, I bet that there’re others who wouldn’t mind a shot at it. Maybe it’s that internal desire to spread the seed around, or my own desire to build something from the ground up and watch it flourish. Of course, it’s not always guaranteed that it’d always flourish.
I’m worried about my own view that I’d be better off being settled down and domesticated. Once upon a time I had the notion that if I got married, I’d be with a yuppie-like partner, and we’d spend our nights coming back from work and adjourning to bistros with our yuppie-like friends. We’d have stainless steel kitchen appliances such as bowls and spatulas, but we’d never have to use them because we’d give up on cooking and just eat out to whet our appetites. It’d be a fun marriage; it wouldn’t be complicated with children because somehow, we’d be both Supermom and Superdad, and we’d leave the kids with a nanny or we’d both take turns taking them to our respective daycare facilities where we worked.
Fat chance, seeing how this is Malaysia.
But that was a vision, anyway. I suppose that the objective of my life is to attain that goal. Make it a reality, if I must. To earn enough money to gain some form of financial freedom to spend time with the people I want to spend time with the most. You know what I’m talking about. I want to be a hands-on parent. The kind of doting parent who’s always there for the kids, but who doesn’t interfere…that much.
Diaper changing? Not a problem. I’d wake up in the middle of the night. Rides to school? It’s part and parcel of being a parent. Presents? Hey, your kids are supposed to be pampered every now and then. I’d go for all the school performances, and try my best to attend the sports meets and the parent-teacher days. It’s debatable, but my father wasn’t there for me when I needed him the most (though I’m grateful for it, strangely enough). I wouldn’t really want my children to grow up that way.
But for now, I guess that I can only sit back and laugh at what’s been said here. I’m nowhere near prepared for all this. I’ve got to admit…I probably love the idea of being a father a little bit too much. You know how some fathers go all-out to correct the mistakes that they made through their children…like how they want to instill their hopes and dreams in their children and give them what they couldn’t have themselves? It’s probably the same everywhere. You should be worried if I feverishly repeat to myself that my son will become a high school jock, or my precious daughter shall become one of the Plastics.Parenthood. Getting there is there hard part, no?
Forward progression is the only way up.
I’m scared of having a less than perfect child. I’m saying this totally from an aesthetic point of view. I believe that the older a couple is, the higher the chance that the child conceived would suffer from some handicap or abnormal quality. There’d be some physical imperfection involved. I’ve often asked friends if they’d still take the child in and give it whatever it needed, or would they treat it as a second-class child. The obvious answer would be that they wouldn’t know. But you’d guess that despite giving it all you’d have, you’d probably still want an offspring a little more…normal.
I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d love the child…after all, it’d be my flesh and blood. I’d give it whatever was necessary. But at the same time, the bigot in me would probably try to find ways to “fix” the child to get it accepted. Now, it’s the world’s biggest cliché, but it’d be for the best interests of the child. To ensure that he or she has some kind of equal footing in life --- success depends heavily on your physical attributes. To ensure that the child gets to enjoy life the way it was meant to be enjoyed: without any impediments and hindrances; to enjoy it the way that any fully-functional mortal being would.
It sounds a bit over the top, doesn’t it? It all boils down to the fact that I’d be scared of the shame that would be packaged along with having a child who didn’t have “it”. I suppose that the end product reflects heavily on the people who’d brought it into the world. You know how bad seeds are often forgiven because the parents are usually the ones who’re blamed? I have the fear that the same thing would be said of the parents of a child who was lacking in some department. And this isn’t just a child who’s suffering from an impediment. The parents of any child who’s perceived as unsightly in whatever way…they get the blame, don’t they?
Spare the child. Stone the creator.
On that note, what would you do with a child who was sorely lacking in his academic progress? Lord knows what my parents think of me. I live the life of a bohemian free spirit, free from the worries of academia, who’s now sorely paying the price for it. Yet, I still continue my practice of being aloof, because it’s who I am. I suppose that I can use the excuse of “I was meant for greater things” and detach myself from my current responsibilities as a dutiful son. But I do believe in filial piety and, most importantly, karma. It’d be interesting to see what happens to me during my life as a parent.
I can’t really tell you why I am the way I am, just that I am. It’s amazing that I’ve been given all the leeway that I have. But I suppose that the party has to end sometime. Maybe this is some misdirected ode at the responsibilities that we’re meant to assume as we go into “adulthood”. I suppose that we’re all going to live the conventional cookie-cutter lives that we’ve all been told about. Everybody wants domestic bliss of some kind.
Bah.
I’ve got some big shoes to fill, but it can wait.
--------------------
Right Place, Right Time
Looking at the limited opportunities available to you to meet people as you grow older, you tend to take what you can get. Granted, convenience isn't a good reason to go for someone, and it totally destroys the whole "soulmate" thing, and you're not really being totally true to yourself, but research has shown (don't ask me what source this is) that you've probably already met the perfect person and have subsequently lost him/her. So, once that business has been taken care of...who cares? You've already held (and for some of us, tasted) perfection, so at least we know what it's like. It's time to move on to the ugly duckling, in the hopes that nothing short of a swan blossoms from it. Who knows? It might just happen. And you'd be happier because of it.
Is settling for less a bad thing? What if you're settling for just a little bit less? I've realized that in terms of a "partner" (I never thought that I'd be putting it that way), I'm not as picky as some other people that I know. I know that I don't really have the resources that they have either, but in another perspective, I'm pretty much game for anything as long as I see that there's something there that I'd really like. The good thing is, this doesn't apply to everyone that I meet. The bad thing is, it applies to the majority of people that I meet.
People do come in 31 flavours. And more. This sounds quite poncey, but I really do try to see the good stuff within a person as opposed to just the superficial stuff because...it's more rewarding to take a look at what's inside. With that said, I've never really gone out with anyone who was absurdly fat (maybe just a little bit chubby), nor have I ever really gone out with someone who couldn't speak English with at least a IELTS 5.0 level of proficiency. At the same time, most of the girls I've dated do have some kind of artistic ambitions within themselves.
Not being picky.
I don't know. I find that it's easy for me to just take a look at someone and go "hmmmm...not too shabby". It's gotten me into trouble before. And it just might, once again. There's no beauty in a situation like this. Shit like this isn't meant to be treaded upon lightly. Show no restraint, because someone's eventually going to understand your motives. Eventually.
------------------
Discipline...?
My mom used to hit me a lot when I was a kid. It was her way of showing who was the boss. I suspect that when you're a housewife, who is properly qualified for a job but unable to carry one overseas, you probably develop some kind of inferiority complex of sorts; especially if you're a strong-willed, independent woman.
I ended up hating her for the majority of my teenaged life because of this. My dad recalled that I used to run around screaming "child abuse! child abuse!" when I was younger. After each thrashing I'd get, I'd just feel awful. Wouldn't you?
And it doesn't stop there. My mother probably had it in for me. One terribly clear memory I have took place in Singapore. My father had broken the handle off a mug, and I was there with him. He then went to work. I went to school, and came back. My mom questioned me intently about the mug, and didn't believe me when I told her that my father accidentally broke it repeatedly. He came home, and reaffirmed what I'd said. I didn't even get an apology from her. It's not so much the lack of an apology I was mad about...it was the total lack of faith she had in me.
I was told repeatedly that since I was a crap son, I'd get crap children. This is only because I fought back when I was in my teens. What kind of mothering is that? And am I all that more screwed up because of it?
Nowadays, things are cooled down significantly between my mother and I. I only see her once a week, and I don't hear from her that often unless she wants to be heard. Or unless I want to talk to her, which, I have to admit, doesn't happen at all. Our relationship is less than healthy. And sometimes, I really do think she's mad. As in crazy. Insane.
Not too flattering, I know.
Nature dictates that we stick by our mothers. How does that quote go? "Mother is the name of God on the lips of all children." Something like that. I don't know. I wish it was true.
--------------------
Misfit.
I tend to be slow in any social situation; I can read a situation well enough, but in terms of responses and witty comebacks…I’m sorely lacking in that department. I have a knack of saying the wrong thing at the best times, therefore bursting the bubble of a perfectly lively discussion. I’m also renowned for doing incredibly strange things that defy logic. Not silly things, mind you, but strange things that just prove that I can outweird any of my friends. I’ve had my share of priceless moments, but my life seems to be filled with moments where you’d tend to take a step back and tell yourself that I wouldn’t be worth your trouble.
One New Year’s resolution that I’ve made over the years has been to watch what I say. It’s worked well enough, and I’ve improved immensely because of it. But I also live by the adage that the first thing you say (no matter how ludicrous) is the most honest thing; it comes straight from your gut. And I tend to use my gut instincts more than my brain. I’ve benefited from it in the past, but lately, things have taken a nosedive. Still, I believe that things tend to work out more as a result of out instincts, rather than our logic.I don’t know if I’d change myself to become popular. I revel in mass adoration, and it’s worked out so far in my favour.
There’re certain aspects of myself that I could change in an attempt to boost my profile. But how far would I be willing to go? How far would you be willing to go to be accepted? I remember keeping to myself in high school; the friends that I had (and still have) belonged to what I’d like to call the slacker community. I’m not saying that I’d found acceptance.
And after all this time, it’s still awkward at a tertiary level.I’m not complaining that I don’t belong anywhere. It’s just that at this point in time, I should know where I belong.It sounds silly, but I’ve got different accents prepared for different people. And in situations when different accents need to be utilized simultaneously, the results can be catastrophic. I can’t be myself without realizing that there’s some bizarre conflict of interest with another “self”.
How I perceive myself to be and what I’d want people to perceive me as…the gap’s getting wider everyday.
--------------------
-----------------------------------------
Daddy Bites Parts 1 & 2
It sounds overly sappy, but at times, I watch fathers play with their children on the playground, or hanging out with their kids at the mall and I want to be like them. That’s right. Hold back your consternation: I’d love to be a father. While most guys would probably shudder at the thought of such an atrocity, I bet that there’re others who wouldn’t mind a shot at it. Maybe it’s that internal desire to spread the seed around, or my own desire to build something from the ground up and watch it flourish. Of course, it’s not always guaranteed that it’d always flourish.
I’m worried about my own view that I’d be better off being settled down and domesticated. Once upon a time I had the notion that if I got married, I’d be with a yuppie-like partner, and we’d spend our nights coming back from work and adjourning to bistros with our yuppie-like friends. We’d have stainless steel kitchen appliances such as bowls and spatulas, but we’d never have to use them because we’d give up on cooking and just eat out to whet our appetites. It’d be a fun marriage; it wouldn’t be complicated with children because somehow, we’d be both Supermom and Superdad, and we’d leave the kids with a nanny or we’d both take turns taking them to our respective daycare facilities where we worked.
Fat chance, seeing how this is Malaysia.
But that was a vision, anyway. I suppose that the objective of my life is to attain that goal. Make it a reality, if I must. To earn enough money to gain some form of financial freedom to spend time with the people I want to spend time with the most. You know what I’m talking about. I want to be a hands-on parent. The kind of doting parent who’s always there for the kids, but who doesn’t interfere…that much.
Diaper changing? Not a problem. I’d wake up in the middle of the night. Rides to school? It’s part and parcel of being a parent. Presents? Hey, your kids are supposed to be pampered every now and then. I’d go for all the school performances, and try my best to attend the sports meets and the parent-teacher days. It’s debatable, but my father wasn’t there for me when I needed him the most (though I’m grateful for it, strangely enough). I wouldn’t really want my children to grow up that way.
But for now, I guess that I can only sit back and laugh at what’s been said here. I’m nowhere near prepared for all this. I’ve got to admit…I probably love the idea of being a father a little bit too much. You know how some fathers go all-out to correct the mistakes that they made through their children…like how they want to instill their hopes and dreams in their children and give them what they couldn’t have themselves? It’s probably the same everywhere. You should be worried if I feverishly repeat to myself that my son will become a high school jock, or my precious daughter shall become one of the Plastics.Parenthood. Getting there is there hard part, no?
Forward progression is the only way up.
I’m scared of having a less than perfect child. I’m saying this totally from an aesthetic point of view. I believe that the older a couple is, the higher the chance that the child conceived would suffer from some handicap or abnormal quality. There’d be some physical imperfection involved. I’ve often asked friends if they’d still take the child in and give it whatever it needed, or would they treat it as a second-class child. The obvious answer would be that they wouldn’t know. But you’d guess that despite giving it all you’d have, you’d probably still want an offspring a little more…normal.
I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d love the child…after all, it’d be my flesh and blood. I’d give it whatever was necessary. But at the same time, the bigot in me would probably try to find ways to “fix” the child to get it accepted. Now, it’s the world’s biggest cliché, but it’d be for the best interests of the child. To ensure that he or she has some kind of equal footing in life --- success depends heavily on your physical attributes. To ensure that the child gets to enjoy life the way it was meant to be enjoyed: without any impediments and hindrances; to enjoy it the way that any fully-functional mortal being would.
It sounds a bit over the top, doesn’t it? It all boils down to the fact that I’d be scared of the shame that would be packaged along with having a child who didn’t have “it”. I suppose that the end product reflects heavily on the people who’d brought it into the world. You know how bad seeds are often forgiven because the parents are usually the ones who’re blamed? I have the fear that the same thing would be said of the parents of a child who was lacking in some department. And this isn’t just a child who’s suffering from an impediment. The parents of any child who’s perceived as unsightly in whatever way…they get the blame, don’t they?
Spare the child. Stone the creator.
On that note, what would you do with a child who was sorely lacking in his academic progress? Lord knows what my parents think of me. I live the life of a bohemian free spirit, free from the worries of academia, who’s now sorely paying the price for it. Yet, I still continue my practice of being aloof, because it’s who I am. I suppose that I can use the excuse of “I was meant for greater things” and detach myself from my current responsibilities as a dutiful son. But I do believe in filial piety and, most importantly, karma. It’d be interesting to see what happens to me during my life as a parent.
I can’t really tell you why I am the way I am, just that I am. It’s amazing that I’ve been given all the leeway that I have. But I suppose that the party has to end sometime. Maybe this is some misdirected ode at the responsibilities that we’re meant to assume as we go into “adulthood”. I suppose that we’re all going to live the conventional cookie-cutter lives that we’ve all been told about. Everybody wants domestic bliss of some kind.
Bah.
I’ve got some big shoes to fill, but it can wait.
--------------------
Right Place, Right Time
Looking at the limited opportunities available to you to meet people as you grow older, you tend to take what you can get. Granted, convenience isn't a good reason to go for someone, and it totally destroys the whole "soulmate" thing, and you're not really being totally true to yourself, but research has shown (don't ask me what source this is) that you've probably already met the perfect person and have subsequently lost him/her. So, once that business has been taken care of...who cares? You've already held (and for some of us, tasted) perfection, so at least we know what it's like. It's time to move on to the ugly duckling, in the hopes that nothing short of a swan blossoms from it. Who knows? It might just happen. And you'd be happier because of it.
Is settling for less a bad thing? What if you're settling for just a little bit less? I've realized that in terms of a "partner" (I never thought that I'd be putting it that way), I'm not as picky as some other people that I know. I know that I don't really have the resources that they have either, but in another perspective, I'm pretty much game for anything as long as I see that there's something there that I'd really like. The good thing is, this doesn't apply to everyone that I meet. The bad thing is, it applies to the majority of people that I meet.
People do come in 31 flavours. And more. This sounds quite poncey, but I really do try to see the good stuff within a person as opposed to just the superficial stuff because...it's more rewarding to take a look at what's inside. With that said, I've never really gone out with anyone who was absurdly fat (maybe just a little bit chubby), nor have I ever really gone out with someone who couldn't speak English with at least a IELTS 5.0 level of proficiency. At the same time, most of the girls I've dated do have some kind of artistic ambitions within themselves.
I don't know. I find that it's easy for me to just take a look at someone and go "hmmmm...not too shabby". It's gotten me into trouble before. And it just might, once again. There's no beauty in a situation like this. Shit like this isn't meant to be treaded upon lightly. Show no restraint, because someone's eventually going to understand your motives. Eventually.
------------------
Discipline...?
My mom used to hit me a lot when I was a kid. It was her way of showing who was the boss. I suspect that when you're a housewife, who is properly qualified for a job but unable to carry one overseas, you probably develop some kind of inferiority complex of sorts; especially if you're a strong-willed, independent woman.
I ended up hating her for the majority of my teenaged life because of this. My dad recalled that I used to run around screaming "child abuse! child abuse!" when I was younger. After each thrashing I'd get, I'd just feel awful. Wouldn't you?
And it doesn't stop there. My mother probably had it in for me. One terribly clear memory I have took place in Singapore. My father had broken the handle off a mug, and I was there with him. He then went to work. I went to school, and came back. My mom questioned me intently about the mug, and didn't believe me when I told her that my father accidentally broke it repeatedly. He came home, and reaffirmed what I'd said. I didn't even get an apology from her. It's not so much the lack of an apology I was mad about...it was the total lack of faith she had in me.
I was told repeatedly that since I was a crap son, I'd get crap children. This is only because I fought back when I was in my teens. What kind of mothering is that? And am I all that more screwed up because of it?
Nowadays, things are cooled down significantly between my mother and I. I only see her once a week, and I don't hear from her that often unless she wants to be heard. Or unless I want to talk to her, which, I have to admit, doesn't happen at all. Our relationship is less than healthy. And sometimes, I really do think she's mad. As in crazy. Insane.
Not too flattering, I know.
Nature dictates that we stick by our mothers. How does that quote go? "Mother is the name of God on the lips of all children." Something like that. I don't know. I wish it was true.
--------------------
Misfit.
I tend to be slow in any social situation; I can read a situation well enough, but in terms of responses and witty comebacks…I’m sorely lacking in that department. I have a knack of saying the wrong thing at the best times, therefore bursting the bubble of a perfectly lively discussion. I’m also renowned for doing incredibly strange things that defy logic. Not silly things, mind you, but strange things that just prove that I can outweird any of my friends. I’ve had my share of priceless moments, but my life seems to be filled with moments where you’d tend to take a step back and tell yourself that I wouldn’t be worth your trouble.
One New Year’s resolution that I’ve made over the years has been to watch what I say. It’s worked well enough, and I’ve improved immensely because of it. But I also live by the adage that the first thing you say (no matter how ludicrous) is the most honest thing; it comes straight from your gut. And I tend to use my gut instincts more than my brain. I’ve benefited from it in the past, but lately, things have taken a nosedive. Still, I believe that things tend to work out more as a result of out instincts, rather than our logic.I don’t know if I’d change myself to become popular. I revel in mass adoration, and it’s worked out so far in my favour.
There’re certain aspects of myself that I could change in an attempt to boost my profile. But how far would I be willing to go? How far would you be willing to go to be accepted? I remember keeping to myself in high school; the friends that I had (and still have) belonged to what I’d like to call the slacker community. I’m not saying that I’d found acceptance.
And after all this time, it’s still awkward at a tertiary level.I’m not complaining that I don’t belong anywhere. It’s just that at this point in time, I should know where I belong.It sounds silly, but I’ve got different accents prepared for different people. And in situations when different accents need to be utilized simultaneously, the results can be catastrophic. I can’t be myself without realizing that there’s some bizarre conflict of interest with another “self”.
How I perceive myself to be and what I’d want people to perceive me as…the gap’s getting wider everyday.
--------------------
posted by funkyhippopotamus at
2:59:00 am
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