When upset, I pull up all the walls around me—a reflexive habit borne out of self-preservation to protect/hide my vulnerable state. I become hardened; cruel; impervious; reducing countless numbers of people to tears with my conduct, including my loved ones. Amendment: especially my loved ones. Among the unfortunates: my parents, siblings, ‘lovers’ (current, former or otherwise) and my closest friends.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—I think they meant me.
I transform into a merciless witch only because the alternative is (in my mind) an emotional wreck void of spine or pride. Once I give in, the floodgates open. And everyone knows (and by everyone, I mean myself, and of course, the Sex and the City girls) that once a woman shows her tears they are never again taken seriously. Tears are a sign of weakness, and the only way to avoid that discomfiture is by hardening one’s heart. I am much too proud to be seen as weak.
I realise I am ego-on-legs; the only time I met my match was when I dated a guy whose ego was as large as mine. That made logging heads resemble a WWF match, only I got the courtesy of a handicap (translation: I was allowed to hit, as long as it was above the belt). Verbal abuses flew from our mouths—I never knew I was capable of such vulgarity till then. We were a charming pair who loved as fiercely as we fought. Sadly, our brief affair couldn’t last—though exciting, it was too tempestuous; too volatile. The emotional drama proved to be too draining for me.
So here I am: furious and indignant with my current amour. He lies at the other end of the spectrum: patient and sensible, allowing me time to cool down when I’m being ridiculously hot-headed. I am the little kid who needs time-out to reflect on my thoughts and actions, and he knows it. Even as I write this, my umbrage melts away into something akin to shame.
In the light of sobriety, my initial thoughts/reactions—ignore him for a week, never pick up his calls, give him the wintriest of receptions if I do pick up, break it off—are revealed for what they truly are: IRRATIONAL.
I suppose I will pick up my phone when he calls. I might even sound happy.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—I think they meant me.
I transform into a merciless witch only because the alternative is (in my mind) an emotional wreck void of spine or pride. Once I give in, the floodgates open. And everyone knows (and by everyone, I mean myself, and of course, the Sex and the City girls) that once a woman shows her tears they are never again taken seriously. Tears are a sign of weakness, and the only way to avoid that discomfiture is by hardening one’s heart. I am much too proud to be seen as weak.
I realise I am ego-on-legs; the only time I met my match was when I dated a guy whose ego was as large as mine. That made logging heads resemble a WWF match, only I got the courtesy of a handicap (translation: I was allowed to hit, as long as it was above the belt). Verbal abuses flew from our mouths—I never knew I was capable of such vulgarity till then. We were a charming pair who loved as fiercely as we fought. Sadly, our brief affair couldn’t last—though exciting, it was too tempestuous; too volatile. The emotional drama proved to be too draining for me.
So here I am: furious and indignant with my current amour. He lies at the other end of the spectrum: patient and sensible, allowing me time to cool down when I’m being ridiculously hot-headed. I am the little kid who needs time-out to reflect on my thoughts and actions, and he knows it. Even as I write this, my umbrage melts away into something akin to shame.
In the light of sobriety, my initial thoughts/reactions—ignore him for a week, never pick up his calls, give him the wintriest of receptions if I do pick up, break it off—are revealed for what they truly are: IRRATIONAL.
I suppose I will pick up my phone when he calls. I might even sound happy.
2 comments:
this comments was supposed to be for the prior post but oh well...
di, designer spotting! remember when SOMEONE spotted in bangsar starbucks? ahahahha.
i said SOMEONE to imply it was a non-janpantser.
Euw, Jan! Do you HAVE to remind me about SOMEONE's spotting highlights?
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