Work It, Bitches!

Well ok Tyra, since you ask and generally look so frightening in your diva poses…

No prizes for guessing who’s been watching America’s Next Top Model.

The recent episode (Channel V, 8pm Mondays) was about the awesomeness of Tyra how schoolgirl it is to throw hissy fits when your He-Man Master of the Universe shoulders are singled out during competition or cry on national TV cos your boobies hurt. It’s a modelling competition, ladies. Also, how being clueless (or completely sloshed out of your brain) about your level of suckitude as perceived by others can only end in tears when the truth is scratched into your face in a frenzy of meows, claws and flying fur.

So the girls were told to identify and then accentuate those flaws in a positive manner. But the objective of the shoots was all weird and inconsistent and so we’ll just move on to the point of this post instead.


It often astounds me - though I don’t know why it still should, human nature considered - that people really have a problem with being honest about their faults. I don’t mean that sarcastic self-deprecation, you know, when someone goes “oh but what do I know, I’m just a dumb ho/housewife/lackey/civil servant/etc” when what they actually mean is I rock, bitch.

Neither do I mean those who just can’t help playing that bizarre mind game of pointing out imaginary/exaggerated flaws just so those around them feel obliged to coo and soothe – “No lah, where got” and throw flowers painstakingly spun with rapturous adoration at their feet.

Those people are the kind who don’t think that there’s really anything wrong with how they behave.

I’m talking about putting a mirror to the ugliness of your soul and being honest enough to see and therefore say – That was so unnecessary/mean/bitchy/stupid/intolerant/unfair/unreasonable of me.


I’ve grown up with a legacy of an uncontrollable, violent temper. I’ve felt its effects and I know I’m just as susceptible to being as out of control

I’ve watched my mother cast judgement on the inferior parenting skills of others and it’s all I can do to keep from crawling into fetal position and chanting “People who live in glass houses…”

She martyrs herself as this faultless, generous person who is taken advantage of by all…and it used to drive me insane (sometimes still does)…but I’ve since realised that underlying all that bravado runs the deepest, most crippling guilt and self-doubt.

In understanding that, I cannot condemn her. The guilt is harvest enough. And so I leave her to condemn others in order to feel better about herself.

Isn’t it healthier though, in the long run, to confront the Ugliness That Is You rather than for someone else to finally get through to you and you die of embarrassment or delusion-failure as a result?

Yes, life is already tough as it is and it’s even harder to recognise and admit to the true you. Too bad. It's gotta be done, because that’s what civilisation ought to mean…a constant process of self-examination, self-understanding and then taking the necessary steps to fix the problems. Or at least to mitigate them.


I’ve had the fortune and luxury of time to understand myself. And I’m happier for it because the reflection in the mirror is constant reminder to me to be a better person.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who deserves to face the wall?

I have a runaway temper. Once it sparks, it takes superlative effort not to let my mouth run away with the pointy spoon. I am genetically capable of ruining the mood of the moment by repeatedly pointing out the obvious. When in such rage, I have a vicious need to crush the inferior spirits of its object with the astoundingly glaring fact of said object’s stupidity and then force said object to admit said stupidity by scratching it out in a million lines, in said object’s own dwindling blood.

I am extremely impatient with

1) Illogic

Simply because it’s a waste of my time. If I can be bothered to rationalise my thoughts, you should too. If your illogic has been pointed out, don’t persist. It will be brutal.

2) Emotional paralysis

The time you spend wallowing in spilt/skim/sour/soy milk is inversely proportional to my esteem for you. This is because in such situations I believe myself to be the all-knowing god of impartiality and it’s past time for self-pity, wimp. You may hate me for my brutal assessment now but after the skyrocketing share price of whatever company makes your favourite brand of tissues comes back to normal and you’re laughing again, you’ll see that I was right.

When the above scenarios occur, I suck at diplomacy. Simply because you have failed to give me cause not to continue my love-affair with my opinions. I am therefore unlikely to care if you think that I’m a cold-hearted, arrogant bitch queen of the universe. With Masters of the Universe shoulders, if you must.

I am overly-confident in my ability to consider more than one source of information/perspective and to be impartial. As a result, I tend to think that I usually know best. That wonderful trait expresses itself in my turning into a bossy boots control freak with a tendency to lecture.

Another result of the above is my belief that the fact that we are friends will not deter me from being the first to say aloud “what the hell is wrong with you??” when everyone else is tip-toeing about or keeping quiet. I have a major saviour complex and that compels me to helpfully point out that the buck-naked Emperor has been conned by his tailors. The only consolation I can offer is that I am unlikely to hold my disagreement against you and will usually nag myself to refrain from saying “I told you so” later.

I know. Looks pretty bad. Save Snowie!

But recognising the Step-Sister side of me allows for trying to do better. I think I’ve improved a bit with anger management. Baby steps lah. And I’m never shy to apologise if I’m mistaken or got my facts wrong. And I keep trying to remind myself not to lecture…but sometimes, after writing SO MUCH in a fit of indignant passion… very heartache to delete lah.


Anyway. I was talking to Snowie the other day about what my gift would be if I, as a fairy godmother (shaddab), could bestow a single trait in a newborn baby.

Kindness.

So emo hor? And out of character. You’d think I, who suffer fools badly, would value intelligence above all else.

The thing is, I’ve seen too many people believe it very cool or edgy or whatever to have a cause to rant on or be pissed off at. People who cannot get through a conversation without putting down another person teruk teruk. People who cannot tell the difference between describing a fact and getting personal. People who buy into the romanticising of the Angry Young Man or the Tough-as-Nails Chick.

See, you could be supersmart and do all kinds of maths but have no sense of social skills & etiquette or be a brat.

Or you could be supercool and know all kinds of great facts and have a razor mind sharper than sharp but we all know how often those kinds of people skim the line on the side of arrogance. And how much they’re hated.

However. You could be dumb as a dodo, but who's going to have ill-will towards a kind-hearted, good natured dunce?


If one were kind, there would naturally be no bone in one’s body of the prejudiced, intolerant, spiteful, mean, egotistical or selfish variety.

If I were kind, there wouldn’t be a list of flaws up there.

I’m bored now, so I won’t care if this all seemed a little incoherent and stop here.

Oh, and obviously I have a very short attention span. Save Snowie!