“If everyone has a issue with a person, the problem probably lies with said person. But if you’re the only one with an issue with this person, then the problem most likely lies with you.”
It’s a common phase found in self-help articles on Psych Today, ‘advice’ from YouTube strangers in too much eyeliner that you’ve never met, or a caption emblazoned on the bumper sticker on some random persons car that you spotted on the road, probably as a giant “F*** YOU” to other randos on the road with bad driving etiquette.
This sentence, though popular, is far from serving its assumably intended purpose of making you reflect and adjusting your attitude and outlook on life accordingly.
What. Utter. Rubbish.
This sentence is the essence of bullying.
I’m a self-professed ambivert, having stated on numerous occasions of my predisposition in getting mentally drained after each conversation – no matter how energetic or engaging I started out the day being.
I’m not talking about the exhaustion of coordinating project work in school, or the need to collaborate with lesser (or lazier minds), where one was forced to communicate with others with different frequency levels and/or who disagreed with your opinions. Those conversations – though tiring – had a structure and were predictably irrational. Yes, they were tear-your-brains-out irritating, but at least people were honest with their feelings – disagreeable or otherwise.
But it’s as if I’ve fallen into a reverse Wonderland and Alice is nowhere to be found. A place where honesty is in critical short supply and people seemingly rewarded for wasting everyone else’s time.
Ze: One refers to a person with ze typically (a) when their gender is unknown, and one wishes to avoid assuming their gender, or (b) when they are neither male nor female in gender, making he and she (and also either/or terms like s/he or (s)he) inappropriate and potentially hurtful.
I had a friend back in Secondary school who found a scrap bit of paper in the classroom bin. It dictated a conversation between two unknown individuals – what with the famed 00s’ coloured gel inks – with a special shoutout to “Tish the class b*tch”, who had the “gall to refer to herself as the future Miss Universe.”
Yes, this really happened. But I was 14 and ambitious, pre-realisation of my passion of being a writer, and not just a pretty face.
Sexism is a f**king problem. Think of this situation as having a giant pink elephant standing in the middle of the room. Everyone notices its presence, and how ridiculous it looks just rooted there, furiously trumpeting its long pink trunk and stomping its salmon feet.
Yet the world merely tiptoes around the pink elephant without bother, putting up with this absurdity because they either fear the ridicule in being the sole lunatic who pointed the elephant out, or the crippling dread of being alone (think herd mentality).
It’s one of those situations where your mother doesn’t – and simply can’t – prepare you for in life. I mean, how would you prepare your 10-year old daughter for the overwhelming tsunami of unwelcome sexual references, and uncalled for remarks on her dressing/makeup/gait/hairstyle/speech/lunch preferences etc.?
I had a very interesting conversation recently about cruel Asians.
No, I’m not talking about Bridget Jones referring to Mark Darcy’s ‘cruel-raced ex-wife’. I’m talking about inconsiderate, self-centred and selfish Asian people – or to give it some context – Singaporeans.
I used to fantasise that I were secretly related to people I didn’t get along with.
The haughty office colleague, the unfriendly classmate, even the nasty lady at the gym who routinely dominated the squat bar, ruling her territory with fear and icy glares.