Muse

I really cannot understand how wearing a sleeveless top could ever deny anybody entry into an office compound. And to top that off, I had to spend 5 minutes being toyed and mocked by a guard. Wow. Didn't know being a guard held so much power. It must be a great ego stroke for him when he check me out from head to toe, then asked me to ask myself why I can't enter the premises.

And I really couldn't tell if his English is really poor or he's just ill bred with much misconstrued idea of how a lady should dress. Because despite me genuinely answering him that I do not have a clue of why I cannot enter, he kept asking me over and over again, with that lecherous smirk on his face, "Ask yourself-lah why you cannot enter. You betul betul tak tahu atau pura-pura tak tau?"

Well, fucker, I really don't have time for you so why don't you just get to fucking point. If I can't enter, so be it. It's not like my life depends on it and not as it I'll go crying by your feet and give you a blow job just to step foot into the compound you're guarding. Bloody hell. That guard did get delusional in that small little box of his.

So that would be my anger ranting. Now back to civilized discussion.

Respect.

It really is a very common courtesy, which I think everyone should have, regardless your race, status, occupation and sex. I can be a prostitute all I want and I believe I still be treated with respect. The phrase saying "Customer is always right" should have been tossed out the window aeons ago. The fact that you are paying for a product/services only gives you the consumers' right, not any other rights to humiliate and demand all-you-can-ask-for. Last I check, the business relationship is a two way traffic. If I don't give, you don't get. So be nice.

And in the event I am wrong or in any case had offended me, an adult and mature response would had been to tell me in the face directly and politely. I would had just apologized and come back appropriately dressed. Instead of spending 5 minutes of word twister, eyes roaming and lips snickering. How hard is it to be polite?

And despite having been the topic of many discussions, even in the parliament, some men just failed at grasping the fact that the dressing of a woman does not determine an outcome of behaviour. Such Paleolithic opinion is gritting on my nerves especially when there are so many preconceptions and rules on how a female should dress/behave.

We do not just belong in the kitchen
Nor do we have to sit through our husband wrath and be a whore in the bed to keep him from committing adultery.
Neither do we have to mind our dressing to deter rapist.

Why?

Because last I check, men and women are of the same species. Each superior in their own way. And I am not even fighting for feminism damn it. Just give us the respect we deserve. Because imagine if in the past, the men are the one being suppressed and kept in the kitchen while the women went out and hunt. How different would today's society be?

There is no dictum or rule set in stone that dictates the female sex being inferior to others or homosexuals being abnormal. The status quo of gender we see today comes not from any sacred texts. It came from generations and generations of societal conditioning. And just because it is the practiced norm doesn't mean it is the right thing to do.

To think that in the 21st century, we still have the mentality of the dark ages. It's disgracing and detestable that I felt like spitting on you. Luckily, I was bred better than you..

Thank you.

Common.

A six-letter word I had always feared.

Fear.

A four-letter word I had always denied.

Denial.

Another six-letter word that worked my pretentiousness.

Pretence.

This seven-letter word is my escapism.


Twenty three words to help you delve deeper into an understanding of me. Or not.
I am in fear of the future and in denial of my commonness thence pretending to be somebody elses in my little room.
I had always loved the game of "Let's pretend". I used to dress up in my aunt's or mom's clothes and jewellery when I thought everybody else was asleep. Well, at least I thought they were. I love pretending to be adults then.

I wonder why, since after 20 years into the future, I now want to pretend I'm a kid who don't quite know the woes of an adult.
I wish.

Wish.

A powerful yet dangerous four-letter word. For they can give you hope, yet take away your dreams and everything you have, if you are not careful.
Everybody have wishes, wants and fantasies.
I am everybody.
The goals and standards I set for myself stands proud like the Eiffel tower. Tall, majestic and as proud as the French. No offense. (=
but, I have yet to achieve them all, or place a tick at each and everyone of them.

I don't even have a 10 year plan like what a friend of mine did. Almost thought my future is headed for the ruins.
But we sat over coffee sometime ago and revised that memory.
Plans are organized thoughts. They are not set in stone. Our thoughts and life cannot be weaved together and paved like a stone walkway.
Then I realized, the whole time I lie awake in bed, worrying about how my life would turn out, how many dogs I'll have, what my house would look like, I was being a redundant insomniac.

Redundant.

Because this nine-letter word smacks me in the face every time I torture myself with unnecessary guilt, rage and self-pity. No amount of lamentations is going to work my thoughts into projects or cold hard cash. I rather the cat slap me on my cheeks with its still pink paws so that I wake every morning to accomplish what I drew up on my mind the night before.

Meowr.

Time to fill up the forms. Get the paperworks done. My heart had already been tenderized for the start of my career next year by the stories and rants of a future colleague. Funny, how I would let myself end up in a place I never thought I'll end up at all.

Au revoir to the student's life. Here begins the transition of all my twenty three-letters into my favourite seven : strength.