teaming of the shrew

I seldom whine about study. Sure I whine about everything else, but when it comes to study - I am on the ball. Emphasis being on I. Throw a couple of strangers into the equation, however, the ball promptly slips from right under me, swerves in every direction, defying all laws of nature.

Nope, nothing like a rare dose of Group Assessment to shed light upon the full extent of my anal-retentiveness. The awakening comes about somewhat as follows:

• begin with a high basal level of DoOPA (Distruct of Other People's Abilities)
• add awareness of 1 co-worker's mediocre performance in another subject
• add repeated rejections of my offers to convene and divvy up workload
• agitate with 'explanations' given for non-performance: preparing for interviews(!), no internet (like, get out of the effing cave!), classes(!)

and voila! We have a steamin' Crisis at hand.

All my life, fortune-tellers the world over have been telling me (free of charge and 99% of the time unsolicited) that I am destined to be a leader, not a follower. But before I get there, could somebody please surprise me with a splash of dependability (for fear that competence might be too much to ask for)? So that my time could be more profitably invested in attaining positions of power and influence - instead of in CYA (Covering Your Ass)?

sense and insensitivity

If you happen to read this, and work out that it's about you - apologies in advance for such indiscretion and for any offence taken however unlikely the event. I reiterate my gossiping policy which appears on the cover page. Moreover, not that I'm scraping for excuses, nobody else reading this has met you and if they ever do I know they'll adore you as much as I do. Trust me - I may have poor taste generally, but I have great taste in people.

For a decent part of Honours year I half-heartedly nurtured a healthy-sized crush on this guy. Half-hearted for it was a love affair doomed from the start. Among the obstacles standing in our way were:

1. our comparable lack of basic social skills;
2. his utter oblivion to the whole thing, for the most part anyway (as is usually the case with objects of one's hidden affection); and
3. my concurrent and seriouser crush on some girl halfway across the world (and otherwise quite unattainable), which crush was forcing me to confront my previously realised-but-ignored fluidity/versatility/diversity/whatever-else-you-wan2-call-it.

At the time I was highly dismissive of the crush in question, putting it down to a manifestation of my denial of, and/or an attempted solution to, the crush referred to in point 3 above. In hindsight, however, I am more convinced that there might've been some substance to it. I mean really, why wouldn't/shouldn't I like a guy who sings, writes, makes tiramisu, and has good dress sense?

I'll tell you why. Because guys like him simply don't go 'round with gals like me. They belong with... guys like themselves! Though I can't be 100% sure, that was the gist I got from our last virtual exchange. Dude, I don't care how stupid or daggy this sounds, thanks for sharing - in such cool understated fashion, to boot.

With each discovery of this kind the world makes a little more sense. (Not a word from yous about my taste in men.)

missing peace of the puddle

Stormy weekend nights make me think of my father - and not just as in "Gee I hope he doesn't catch me stepping out of some meat market...". I picture him slogging through the horrendous weather, dealing with disheartening specimens of the human race, drawing meager comfort from one cigarette after another. And often, for more than a split second, I wish our relationship were such that I could call and say hey.

The first time I noticed that I do this, couple of years ago now, I remember feeling confused, even disappointed with myself. Here's a man I've spent a lifetime keeping at leg's length, a man I thought I'd succeeded in treating as I would any stranger - with civilised indifference.

Once upon a time:

• I self-righteously skimped over my contempt for him (for to elaborate would be tantamount to an admission of caring)
• every well-meaning observation that I was a splitting image of him made my skin crawl
• my Happy Place was Wherever He Wasn't (sadly still is most of the time)

Nowadays I continue to:

• wonder if mum would've had more..., just more, had she not married him; and whether he would have
• be as amused as upset that 95 times out of 100 he communicates with me through mum (including when we're in the same room), and the other 5 he simply shouts
• get irritated when he brags to people about me, because I feel like he's taking credit for things he had nothing to do with
• attribute my deep-rooted far-reaching cynicism and apathy to Whatever He Did Or Didn't to a greater extent than I would readily admit

In spite of it all, I felt my heart wobble a bit the other day when I heard that he might have liver problems.

N scolded me tonight for not knowing that Father's Day was coming up. The most important thing - and the hardest - is not injecting her with my venom.

and the hardest part * was letting go * not taking part * was the hardest part
and the strangest thing * was waiting for that bell to ring * it was the strangest start
and the hardest part * was letting go * not taking part * you really broke my heart
oh and I tried to sing * but I couldn't think * and it was the hardest part

Coldplay, The Hardest Part

[rest of the lyrics, and indeed the point of the song, are strictly inapplicable]

curb your enthusiasm

Got propositioned today. By a middle-aged Asian man. (Like, what's new?)

[Qs asked by said man which provoked (undetectable and perhaps unwarranted) "fuck you" and/or "you gotta be kiddin' me" reactions:
- Who are you closer to, your mum or your dad?
- What's your Chinese horoscope?
- How important is money to you?
- What's the best thing about yourself?
- What's the worst thing about yourself?]

Not an entirely disagreeable proposition though. So I set out to construct a pros-v-cons list to help with the decision-making process. Until I realised that it's not so simple and clear-cut, that something can be either a pro or a con or both depending on which of my multiple personalities is dominant at any given time. For instance:

The office has similar deco to my lab (= dodgy carpet, cramped spaces, little natural lighting)! Which is not necessarily indicative of its profitability: Azns are notorious for their wealth-concealing skills.

The firm has 'more Chn clients than it can adequately service at the moment'. Translation: "we need a go-between" or "we'd like to make more $ off them helpless buggers" - either will involve me being pimped out, I suspect. (Again, what's new?) I'm thinking, I already deal with so much Azn drama, I may as well get paid for it, yeah? But then, I suspect that I'm not exactly the poster-child for the next-gen CBA (Chn-born Australian). And one would have to be, or at least pretend, in order to thrive in this line of work.

But living less than 400km from the nearest sibling is a Definite Plus. As is the long-enough-to-learn-not-long-enough-to-get-bored comfort of a 2-yr commitment.

unladybird

Not being the 'girly'-est girl has never caused major problems for me (except maybe for that first day of high school when my teacher, having mistaken me for a boy, assigned me to re-arranging the classroom furniture with the rest of the boys). Nor is it anywhere near the top of my list (don't say you haven't got one) of things-I-wish-were-different-about-myself. Still, whenever I contemplate my impending professional life, or all the dress-up fun that N's missing out on by virtue of having an androgynous playmate, 'tis difficult to suppress a small sigh.

Mainly for your viewing pleasure, but also because this is marginally more entertaining than re-drafting a will (which is what I should be doing instead, and FYI for academic rather than personal use), allow me to share a few - less conspicuous - of my unladylike ways.

I take stairs two or more at a time, both up and down. Believe it or not I find this minimises my chances of tripping. Also it makes for an impressive display of my otherwise non-existent physical prowess. A significant reason for my aversion to formal footwear.

Despite my proud heritage, I am clumsy with chopsticks and prefer a spoon and/or (my) fingers. Also, I always finish what's on my plate which, based on observations as well as hearsay, is most unbecoming.

I don't believe in electricity-dependent climate control. Heaters make me thirsty and coolers make me feel segregated from the outside world. Consequently, the coldest nights I go to bed in next day's clothes sans outermost layer, the hottest days I drive with all my windows down and intermittently splash water on myself.

Whilst I've forced myself to be as discreet as possible, I still flinch whenever a guy gives way or holds the door or pulls the chair out for me. It gets worse: my ignorance of queuing etiquette coupled with an in-built awkwardness means that more often than not I let the person next to me go first - and invariably so when that person is female.

I don't recall ever owning more than 4 pairs of shoes at the same time. 1 professional, 1 or 2 casual, 1 exercise. Carrie Bradshaw, you're alien to me.

queeries

Did something tonight which was random even for me. Went to an HREOC public forum, Same-Sex: Same Entitlements. Not a topic that regularly crosses my mind, but one I realise is important irrespective of personal relevance. Wanted to hear what people had to say, to be inspired - if not by the content then at least by the knowledge that somebody's doing something about it. (Yeah, mine's precisely the kind of attitude that does not progress make.)

Venue was Lotteries House, next to City West train stn and backing onto this beautiful-by-day-I'm-sure-but-creepy-after-dark park, where I sat for a good hour, reading by street lights The Symposium (can ancient Greeks be any more gay...) while trying to convince self-conscious self that she could walk in there with confidence and cool. The anxiety was totally unexpected; after all I've been spotted in naughtier establishments. I suppose it's different to come upon ppl not there to have fun, but rather to share difficult experiences, to voice their indignation, and to have all that subjected to public scrutiny. Maybe I felt intimidated, and somewhat like a fraud, who has trouble enough finishing assignments on time, making a little spare cash, occupying her mind with trivia, and such, to find time for getting appropriately outraged by any number of the outrageous things going on around her.

When at last I made my entrance, I found to my unsurprised disappointment less than 30 ppl in attendance. Mostly middle-aged folk, no one from other side of fence let alone fervent objectors (which would've for one thing spiced things up a bit, and for another indicated wider community awareness and concern). All the usual problems were raised and noted and left dangling with no quick-fix. But - many spoke and everyone who did was eloquent and earnest and uncrazy and made for persuasive advocates - if only they weren't preaching to the converted. Anyhow, I got what I went for.

homework

Two emails to write this weekend.

#1 Someone I was once very close to, a long time ago, found out my 'secret' last week from a mutual acquaintance with whom I'd always been on amicable though by no means intimate terms. Yesterday she emailed to apprise me of said discovery, and wondered why I worried about telling her. I did, not for fear of rejection as she speculated, but because I couldn't find time - as pathetic as that sounds. Long and quiet stretches of it, to catch up properly, and paint a balanced picture in which the 'aberration' is but one conspicuous yet peripheral element. She doesn't demand an explanation, I know, but I do of myself - because she matters.

#2 Exhausted and in no condition for obligatory entertainment, I piked on an outing last night. I do this often enough not to have too many qualms about it... until I received the angriest most embittered sms ever from the organiser of said event. I was in the wrong, absolutely, but to be accused of lying and complete disregard for a friendship, and to inspire 'disgust beyond words' - did I deserve that? To boot, by someone I've given a lot of time and patience and thought to, who dare I say hasn't made comparable efforts, and who also happens to routinely bail on me. I shouldn't get worked up by this, maybe I'm in no position to. So I'll only attempt something earnest and unoffensive.

space probe

In the past 6 months alone the words:
- scary
- extremely overwhelming
- disturbing
- [insert any others you've been muttering under your breaths]
were used by various entities to describe my supposed ability to make people speak. Which giveth me great pause.

In place of this sentence there would've been an elaborate explanation of How and Why (involving much circular reasoning and pompous vocab, no doubt), if only I were able to articulate what troubles me as well as I do what amuses.

As things stand, the one I scared is unlikely to speak to me ever again (albeit due to additional idiocy on my part), and the one I overwhelmed wants to do anything but speak. It is thus no small consolation that at least the one whose mother I disturbed still answers my phone calls.