Despite my many attempts to ignore, tolerate, or work around “Mafia Boss,” he still keeps coming back. Like 99.9% of expats in Bangkok, I work as a teacher. I enjoy this most of the time, despite difficulties such as cultural conflicts, miscommunication, unreliable or insane employees, or nitpicking parents. But by far, the biggest pain in my lovely ass is the Mafia Boss. He goes by many names, not all given by me, but I have yet to hear one that is particularly flattering. He’s surely one of a kind though. For someone who works in a school, he has an amazing knack for making people feel like they’re “in the Cold War,” “working in a cutthroat business, not a school,” "working for a tyrant," or "like being with a tempermental 6 year old."
This man’s for real. I was thinking of writing one of my usual blogs about him. There’s enough information to go on and on, but now that I’m writing, something I normally love to do, I find myself getting tired just by the thought of discussing him again. Anytime I try to describe him, my lips spill out unbelievable hyperboles which I’m sure only takes away from my validity. No one is this bad. No one is “out to destroy you.” “Dynasty” was a soap opera, not a reality-based tv show. But oh baby, people like this DO exist. They are dangerous (though they achieve much more in the area of drama than they do in pure results). They care more about their own image and recognition than they do for the welfare of their employees and the children they teach. It’s all about image and power. This is what’s so depressing. I spend SO much time trying to improve the school I’m a part of, which is often an uphill battle as it is, that trying to fight some slob who wants to be king of the world, and sees you as an obstacle in his way, is absolutely exhausting. How to get rid of someone who the school keeps because he is loyal (though they admit, flawed), but who causes pain, anger, and chaos around him?
Okay, now I’ve already written more than I thought I would (it helps to be watching “The West Wing” on the side and coming back to this on commercials).
In other news, the cool season is here finally *HOORAY* I went swimming and it felt really good. A charming ex-boyfriend is in town (and brought a nice pair of shoes!), and I have fantastic teachers working for me in our school. Now, if we can make it to the end of the school term alive and intact (end of February), then maybe, JUST maybe, there really is a god.
But probably not.
Thursday, January 16, 2003
Saturday, December 28, 2002
It’s a Bug’s Life
Well, since I am supposed to be writing about life in Bangkok, I’ll write about something small, literally. Bugs. Bugs in Bangkok far exceed anything I experienced in the U.S, with the exception of perhaps the black widows that fascinated me in the desert. Here the bugs are many, they’re ugly, dirty, and they are sometimes sizeable for a saddle. Yeah, I guess that describes most bugs. Anyway, here’s the chain of bugs in my life….
Fucking Mosquitoes
It’s not big shock that mosquitoes are alive and well here in Thailand. Even in a big city like Bangkok they thrive as squirrels and sparrows thrive in the Midwest U.S. And for some reason that is still unclear to me, they LOVE me! I have scars all up and down my legs to prove it, and have NEVER gone without at least 2-3 bites on my body at all times (often much more). There was a time when I was bitten every single day. Due to some measures by me, that has lessened (like making my house a fortress rivaling Fort Knox). Within my first 4-5 months in Thailand I caught Dengue Fever. Talk about knocking the fuck right out of you. Pretty painful stuff, and the hospital, though fine in terms of service, was fairly uncomfortable as I slept on what felt like a stone slab in the Arctic.
The worst is when I’m standing in a room full of Thais, or eating dinner with many friends, and suddenly, I begin to get bit. NO ONE ELSE will get bit! Not a nibble, not a scratch, not a nothing! ONLY me. Is there something about A- blood that female mosquitoes are madly attracted to? I don’t know, but it’s something that puts me into a rage just thinking about it. The other annoying thing is that I appear to be mildly allergic to them. They burn like a match on my skin. So of course, I scratch them like mad. Lovely.
If there is ONE mosquito in my house, I’m dead. I’ll be bit 4-5 times before I kill it (I can now quite accurately kill mosquitoes in midair by clapping them between my hands and smashing their bodies into my palm), or by patiently waiting for it to simply die. Every single night, I sleep with a mosquito “coil” in my room (an electric version). If I don’t, I’ll be bit by morning.
The Sensitive Ant
When I first arrived in Thailand, the arrival of the teeny tiny ant was troubling. They were amazingly organized and could appear by the thousands in just minutes. And they were so damn hard to get rid of. I felt like I was holding My Lai massacres in my kitchen daily. The problem was that unless I ate on top of a mountain, surrounded by a large ocean, there as no way to prevent the onslaught of ants. All it took was a single crumb. One crumb to fall from a cookie, cracker or piece of toast. God forbid anything with sugar in it. Immediately, as if the impact of the crumb onto the counter created a 8.0 Richter Scale earthquake in the anthill (somewhere behind the walls of my apartment), ants came massing out and surrounded the crumb until it disappeared. As long as they were out, they might as well look for something else edible, which then prompted me to make a mad dash to clear every possible, tempting thing. I have never been particularly a neat person, but I’ve always been pretty good about not leaving food around (it’s books, papers, and clothes that cover my floors). The ants were a menace. They came out in such force and I soon learned that killing them left a near noxious odor. It reminded me of the “stink bugs” I’d kill as a child which rivaled a skunk in funk. Then suddenly, the ants just disappeared. They stopped coming. I could leave a fruit pie in the middle of the carpet and one won’t show. Go figure.
Enter the Termite
If I was still in the U.S,, my house (apartment) would have been condemned a LONG time ago with one of those house-sized pieces of saran wrap surrounding it. Instead, I have lost a foot high stack of books and teaching materials, have had to have an exodus of all canned food and glassware from the cupboards, and once in awhile give a karate kick to a particular beam to watch it splinter and fall (it makes me feel powerful). I’ve been wondering if the disappearance of the ants has anything to do with the termites. Do they EAT ants? No… do they have wars with ants as ants have with themselves? *shrug* Anyway, termites TOTALLY suck. IT’s amazing what they eat, or at least try to. They leave this awful strange substance behind which to me looks like thrown up wood. They even made an attempt to eat through a can of tomato sauce, leaving their spew on it the now label-free surface. The strange wooden network they left of my foot-high stack of books was both fascinating and revolting. And guess what? Termites bite! I have been bitten twice by them! It hurts, but leaves no real damage.
The Dumbass Weevil
Weevils. FUCKING weevils. Do you know what these things are? They insane, grain-eating bugs that can swim about as well as lemmings. They look like small, black rhinoceroses. They go for all my rice and pasta. Once a bag of pasta is open, I have to hermetically seal the thing to prevent a weevil invasion. Usually, all my efforts are in vain. Even with various clips, they meander inside. Once I forgot about a half bag of pasta in the back of a cupboard. OH. MY. GOD. They had turned it into this dark green mass of mush. I almost puked my guts out.
The other interesting thing is that they seem to have a thing for suicide missions to my cats’ water bowl. Every day I have to rinse out their bowl because a small group of weevils are found dead in its bottom. Ritual suicide? Like the ants, weevils seem incapable of being stopped.
Don’t let the Bedbugs bite
The last bug on my list is what I’m afraid may be a bedbug, but I can’t seem to prove it. For sometime now, I have been bit at night by some insect. The bite has been so painful, that it wakes me up with a fantastically intense burning sensation (as well as itching). It leaves little red bites behind, a little harder and smaller than a mosquitoes. My mosquito coil seems to be inconsistent in preventing the attack of these things which only go for my hands, usually the right (the only part of my body besides my face that is outside of the blanket). I don’t know what this bug is and it’s driving me crazy!! I have stood the box spring on their ends and scoured the floor. I have vacuumed and sprayed bug spray. I have washed the sheets (in bleach). I have put the mosquito coil as close to my face and hands as possible. I never see anything. According to one website, a bedbug only comes out at night, but seems to be a fairly large, reddish bug. And slow-moving! I have tried a few late night surprise raids where I switch on the light from the darkness trying to find one. Nothing! Is it a bedbug? If not, what? How can I stop it? Argh…bugs! Bugs! Bugs! I’d much rather have one of those spiders-as-big-as-your-first climbing around my walls then these night vampires. If you have any idea of what my night visitor is, please let me know.
Fucking Mosquitoes
It’s not big shock that mosquitoes are alive and well here in Thailand. Even in a big city like Bangkok they thrive as squirrels and sparrows thrive in the Midwest U.S. And for some reason that is still unclear to me, they LOVE me! I have scars all up and down my legs to prove it, and have NEVER gone without at least 2-3 bites on my body at all times (often much more). There was a time when I was bitten every single day. Due to some measures by me, that has lessened (like making my house a fortress rivaling Fort Knox). Within my first 4-5 months in Thailand I caught Dengue Fever. Talk about knocking the fuck right out of you. Pretty painful stuff, and the hospital, though fine in terms of service, was fairly uncomfortable as I slept on what felt like a stone slab in the Arctic.
The worst is when I’m standing in a room full of Thais, or eating dinner with many friends, and suddenly, I begin to get bit. NO ONE ELSE will get bit! Not a nibble, not a scratch, not a nothing! ONLY me. Is there something about A- blood that female mosquitoes are madly attracted to? I don’t know, but it’s something that puts me into a rage just thinking about it. The other annoying thing is that I appear to be mildly allergic to them. They burn like a match on my skin. So of course, I scratch them like mad. Lovely.
If there is ONE mosquito in my house, I’m dead. I’ll be bit 4-5 times before I kill it (I can now quite accurately kill mosquitoes in midair by clapping them between my hands and smashing their bodies into my palm), or by patiently waiting for it to simply die. Every single night, I sleep with a mosquito “coil” in my room (an electric version). If I don’t, I’ll be bit by morning.
The Sensitive Ant
When I first arrived in Thailand, the arrival of the teeny tiny ant was troubling. They were amazingly organized and could appear by the thousands in just minutes. And they were so damn hard to get rid of. I felt like I was holding My Lai massacres in my kitchen daily. The problem was that unless I ate on top of a mountain, surrounded by a large ocean, there as no way to prevent the onslaught of ants. All it took was a single crumb. One crumb to fall from a cookie, cracker or piece of toast. God forbid anything with sugar in it. Immediately, as if the impact of the crumb onto the counter created a 8.0 Richter Scale earthquake in the anthill (somewhere behind the walls of my apartment), ants came massing out and surrounded the crumb until it disappeared. As long as they were out, they might as well look for something else edible, which then prompted me to make a mad dash to clear every possible, tempting thing. I have never been particularly a neat person, but I’ve always been pretty good about not leaving food around (it’s books, papers, and clothes that cover my floors). The ants were a menace. They came out in such force and I soon learned that killing them left a near noxious odor. It reminded me of the “stink bugs” I’d kill as a child which rivaled a skunk in funk. Then suddenly, the ants just disappeared. They stopped coming. I could leave a fruit pie in the middle of the carpet and one won’t show. Go figure.
Enter the Termite
If I was still in the U.S,, my house (apartment) would have been condemned a LONG time ago with one of those house-sized pieces of saran wrap surrounding it. Instead, I have lost a foot high stack of books and teaching materials, have had to have an exodus of all canned food and glassware from the cupboards, and once in awhile give a karate kick to a particular beam to watch it splinter and fall (it makes me feel powerful). I’ve been wondering if the disappearance of the ants has anything to do with the termites. Do they EAT ants? No… do they have wars with ants as ants have with themselves? *shrug* Anyway, termites TOTALLY suck. IT’s amazing what they eat, or at least try to. They leave this awful strange substance behind which to me looks like thrown up wood. They even made an attempt to eat through a can of tomato sauce, leaving their spew on it the now label-free surface. The strange wooden network they left of my foot-high stack of books was both fascinating and revolting. And guess what? Termites bite! I have been bitten twice by them! It hurts, but leaves no real damage.
The Dumbass Weevil
Weevils. FUCKING weevils. Do you know what these things are? They insane, grain-eating bugs that can swim about as well as lemmings. They look like small, black rhinoceroses. They go for all my rice and pasta. Once a bag of pasta is open, I have to hermetically seal the thing to prevent a weevil invasion. Usually, all my efforts are in vain. Even with various clips, they meander inside. Once I forgot about a half bag of pasta in the back of a cupboard. OH. MY. GOD. They had turned it into this dark green mass of mush. I almost puked my guts out.
The other interesting thing is that they seem to have a thing for suicide missions to my cats’ water bowl. Every day I have to rinse out their bowl because a small group of weevils are found dead in its bottom. Ritual suicide? Like the ants, weevils seem incapable of being stopped.
Don’t let the Bedbugs bite
The last bug on my list is what I’m afraid may be a bedbug, but I can’t seem to prove it. For sometime now, I have been bit at night by some insect. The bite has been so painful, that it wakes me up with a fantastically intense burning sensation (as well as itching). It leaves little red bites behind, a little harder and smaller than a mosquitoes. My mosquito coil seems to be inconsistent in preventing the attack of these things which only go for my hands, usually the right (the only part of my body besides my face that is outside of the blanket). I don’t know what this bug is and it’s driving me crazy!! I have stood the box spring on their ends and scoured the floor. I have vacuumed and sprayed bug spray. I have washed the sheets (in bleach). I have put the mosquito coil as close to my face and hands as possible. I never see anything. According to one website, a bedbug only comes out at night, but seems to be a fairly large, reddish bug. And slow-moving! I have tried a few late night surprise raids where I switch on the light from the darkness trying to find one. Nothing! Is it a bedbug? If not, what? How can I stop it? Argh…bugs! Bugs! Bugs! I’d much rather have one of those spiders-as-big-as-your-first climbing around my walls then these night vampires. If you have any idea of what my night visitor is, please let me know.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Turning 30
In about six weeks I will be thirty years old. Supposedly, this is a major turning
point in one’s life. As for me, it is and it isn’t. Just acknowledging it is giving it importance, I know. Well, so?
I’m not afraid, worried, or alarmed. I kind of welcome thirty. For one, I feel smarter, stronger, more attractive (though a bit too fat recently), calmer, and more independent than ever before. I’ve always really liked the 30’s decade. I’ve always thought women were at their most beautiful in their 30’s. I’ve also admired how you are still young, but have taken all those lessons learned from your twenties and can put them to good use.
I’ve seen my face changing lately – in a way that I like. Unfortunately, I’ve put on about 5-10lbs in the past few months, a mixture of illness and laziness being the culprit. But I have liked the changes in my face. I have wrinkles around my eyes – those laughing lines or crow’s feet (the former sounding quite a bit kinder, in my opinion). Those are okay. I have watched my face take on more angles and shapes. My cheeks and nose seem a bit pointier, and my eyes are different, though I’m not sure why. I’ve even seen a bit more definition in my chinline, which is fine with me considering my normally soft profile. And as I said, since I’ve packed on a little lately, it’s not due to losing weight. I like it. It makes me look older, and a bit more dignified and less goofy. It’s not like I had plastic surgery, and I’m sure anyone who is in my life wouldn’t notice much of a change, but I do, and I’m pleased with it. Unfortunately, I recently went off the pill for the first time in about 10 years and it brought back my oily skin and acne in an aggressive rush. Before that, I had finally achieved, with the combined help of a high level of estrogen and the tropical climate, problem-free skin for the first time in my life.
One of the only bad things I can think of regarding turning thirty, is the loss of the allowance to be a fuck up. When you’re in your twenties, you are often referred to as “young” and you are given a LOT of freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. You can try different jobs (including getting fired), enroll and drop out of school (multiple times if need be), take off and travel for awhile, join a Buddhist temple to become a monk, etc. This is all fairly-well tolerated.
What I don’t like is that once you hit 30, society has lost almost all of its patience with your bullshit. Although the recent emergence of the “Bridgets” in the last few years have kicked out a niche for the new brand of 30-somethings. But in reality, once you hit 30, it’s time to cut the fucking shit. You aren’t married? Are you even LOOKING for a mate? And speaking of “mate,” (if you are a woman), “You know, you only have so many years left [to have a baby], you know. You don’t want to wait too long, be too old.” (I personally have heard this statement, almost verbatim, given to me on more than one occasion). It’s time to get hitched, time to put kids on the agenda (not NOW, but very very soon!), it’s time to get a career instead of a job, to stay in ONE place and settle down, to maybe buy a house or a condo, and maybe even buy a (GAGGAGGAG) an SUV.
I think I’d rather slit my wrists.
So, I’m nearly 30, single, in a good job but one I don’t see as a career, staying in a 2-bedroom-on-loan apartment, and living in Thailand, where I have NO intention of settling in. The only bit of responsibility I have is 2 cats. I don’t really have any interest in marriage, and although I’d like children some day, I certainly don’t want any right now. I like going out, being by myself, traveling, buying myself stuff, and sleeping all way too much.
point in one’s life. As for me, it is and it isn’t. Just acknowledging it is giving it importance, I know. Well, so?
I’m not afraid, worried, or alarmed. I kind of welcome thirty. For one, I feel smarter, stronger, more attractive (though a bit too fat recently), calmer, and more independent than ever before. I’ve always really liked the 30’s decade. I’ve always thought women were at their most beautiful in their 30’s. I’ve also admired how you are still young, but have taken all those lessons learned from your twenties and can put them to good use.
I’ve seen my face changing lately – in a way that I like. Unfortunately, I’ve put on about 5-10lbs in the past few months, a mixture of illness and laziness being the culprit. But I have liked the changes in my face. I have wrinkles around my eyes – those laughing lines or crow’s feet (the former sounding quite a bit kinder, in my opinion). Those are okay. I have watched my face take on more angles and shapes. My cheeks and nose seem a bit pointier, and my eyes are different, though I’m not sure why. I’ve even seen a bit more definition in my chinline, which is fine with me considering my normally soft profile. And as I said, since I’ve packed on a little lately, it’s not due to losing weight. I like it. It makes me look older, and a bit more dignified and less goofy. It’s not like I had plastic surgery, and I’m sure anyone who is in my life wouldn’t notice much of a change, but I do, and I’m pleased with it. Unfortunately, I recently went off the pill for the first time in about 10 years and it brought back my oily skin and acne in an aggressive rush. Before that, I had finally achieved, with the combined help of a high level of estrogen and the tropical climate, problem-free skin for the first time in my life.
One of the only bad things I can think of regarding turning thirty, is the loss of the allowance to be a fuck up. When you’re in your twenties, you are often referred to as “young” and you are given a LOT of freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. You can try different jobs (including getting fired), enroll and drop out of school (multiple times if need be), take off and travel for awhile, join a Buddhist temple to become a monk, etc. This is all fairly-well tolerated.
What I don’t like is that once you hit 30, society has lost almost all of its patience with your bullshit. Although the recent emergence of the “Bridgets” in the last few years have kicked out a niche for the new brand of 30-somethings. But in reality, once you hit 30, it’s time to cut the fucking shit. You aren’t married? Are you even LOOKING for a mate? And speaking of “mate,” (if you are a woman), “You know, you only have so many years left [to have a baby], you know. You don’t want to wait too long, be too old.” (I personally have heard this statement, almost verbatim, given to me on more than one occasion). It’s time to get hitched, time to put kids on the agenda (not NOW, but very very soon!), it’s time to get a career instead of a job, to stay in ONE place and settle down, to maybe buy a house or a condo, and maybe even buy a (GAGGAGGAG) an SUV.
I think I’d rather slit my wrists.
So, I’m nearly 30, single, in a good job but one I don’t see as a career, staying in a 2-bedroom-on-loan apartment, and living in Thailand, where I have NO intention of settling in. The only bit of responsibility I have is 2 cats. I don’t really have any interest in marriage, and although I’d like children some day, I certainly don’t want any right now. I like going out, being by myself, traveling, buying myself stuff, and sleeping all way too much.
Monday, November 18, 2002
Tasteless Thai
This has nothing to do with what I’m about to write, but I swear to god, while riding my motorcycle to get some food tonight, I almost crashed into an elephant’s ass. I’m totally serious. That’s living in Thailand for you.
Anyway…
One of the greatest things about living in Thailand, naturally, is the food. Thai food was my favorite long before I ever set foot in this sweltering country, and although I do grow fairly tired of it here and there, I’m sure it’ll still be my favorite when I leave. YET, I take incredible joy from also eating other kinds of foods like Indian, Italian, Greek, or Cajun, to name just a few. Just yesterday I went to a restaurant that featured food “From the Roman empire.” I know, sounds totally strange, but strange enough to make me curious. The food wasn’t that strange, but it was different and delicious.
One thing that may surprise an ex-pat living in Thailand is the food. Not Thai food per se, but the lack thereof of ALL other kinds. This is not entirely true if you are a tourist on Sukhumvit road – the traditional middle-upper class tourist area or Khao San – the sloppy and slightly seedy backpacker area.
My close friend Bill and I decided to go to a local hotel that was advertising a “Mexican buffet.” We live in a very “Thai” area (almost no foreigners or foreign food), and this was an answer to our prayers. The hotel was nicer than we thought it’d be and the buffet almost bugged our eyes right out of their sockets. It was like food heaven and we kept passing each other at the different islands of the buffet going “Can you believe this?” We were simply happy.
For all the lack of culinary diversity in Bangkok, Mexican is probably one of the least represented, much to the lament of many ex-pats who usually name it first or second in the regularly-held, “God, don’t you miss…..” food conversations I’ve been in here. (These are always interesting conversations, where ex-pats describe in minute and sensual detail all the food they are without, as if we’re all stuck in a deserted island subsisting on fish and coconuts). But that just goes more to my point – there’s a lot of Thai food here, and not a lot else.
So, get this: as Bill and I were sitting at our table ingesting the food with relish, we looked uneasily across from us where a lengthy table was packed with Thai police. About 15 of them, they were all leaning back in their chairs with uncomfortable and surly expressions on their faces. We knew they were there as some sort of bribe dinner (the various forms of bribery are more rampant here than I ever imagined). We wondered why they didn’t get up and get their food, and soon we saw why. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in the typical Mexican restaurant outfits (you should have seen the sombreros on these Thai men!) came gliding over carrying steaming bowls of fried rice. They began depositing them, and other Thai dishes in front of the men. Bill and I were aghast. FRIED FUCKING RICE? Surrounded by all this good (and good quality) food, they were not only ordering a Thai dish, but a boring one at that! WHY? WHY? WHY?
It’s simple really, Thais like Thai food ONLY. This is something I have tried to comprehend (while questioning many Thais) and have never received a clear answer. Of course, Thai food is fantastic, but if I was required to eat it for the rest of my life, I’d be pretty damn depressed. Even English food is tolerable if one really needs a change.
Recently, I was on a work trip to Singapore. I was eating with a colleague, a Thai woman, in a giant food court filled with all sorts of ethnic treats. She ordered Thai food. I ordered Korean, even getting extra kimchi, thinking as a Thai, she’d be way into something pickled, sour and spicy. She adamantly refused to touch it. Not even a taste. “I’m Thai,” she said, “I only like Thai food.” I was stunned. Sure, most travelers have been “guilty” of eating at McDonald’s while abroad. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and it’s a piece of home. Besides a few strange differences, (“la biere” in France or a “sticky rice sandwich” in Thailand), we know we can go in there and get a Big Mac combo and feel the comfort in its memorable taste. But EVERY meal, McDonald’s? How do your tastebuds not scream out in agony of this lifelong repetition? Thai food is made up of about 10 basic ingredients, kind of like Taco Bell’s five. They’re blended in different ways and different amounts with different meats, but the tastes are similar. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes both, and always sour.
Perhaps due to the fact that repetition is one of those things that makes me feel like I may actually be going fucking insane, that I cannot understand how it’s so happily endured by others. What would make one eat ONLY his/her own ethnic food? Is it really the taste or some sort of psychological gastronomic security blanket? I’ll leave that question to the academics; I don’t have the strength or life span for a dissertation.
Anyway…
One of the greatest things about living in Thailand, naturally, is the food. Thai food was my favorite long before I ever set foot in this sweltering country, and although I do grow fairly tired of it here and there, I’m sure it’ll still be my favorite when I leave. YET, I take incredible joy from also eating other kinds of foods like Indian, Italian, Greek, or Cajun, to name just a few. Just yesterday I went to a restaurant that featured food “From the Roman empire.” I know, sounds totally strange, but strange enough to make me curious. The food wasn’t that strange, but it was different and delicious.
One thing that may surprise an ex-pat living in Thailand is the food. Not Thai food per se, but the lack thereof of ALL other kinds. This is not entirely true if you are a tourist on Sukhumvit road – the traditional middle-upper class tourist area or Khao San – the sloppy and slightly seedy backpacker area.
My close friend Bill and I decided to go to a local hotel that was advertising a “Mexican buffet.” We live in a very “Thai” area (almost no foreigners or foreign food), and this was an answer to our prayers. The hotel was nicer than we thought it’d be and the buffet almost bugged our eyes right out of their sockets. It was like food heaven and we kept passing each other at the different islands of the buffet going “Can you believe this?” We were simply happy.
For all the lack of culinary diversity in Bangkok, Mexican is probably one of the least represented, much to the lament of many ex-pats who usually name it first or second in the regularly-held, “God, don’t you miss…..” food conversations I’ve been in here. (These are always interesting conversations, where ex-pats describe in minute and sensual detail all the food they are without, as if we’re all stuck in a deserted island subsisting on fish and coconuts). But that just goes more to my point – there’s a lot of Thai food here, and not a lot else.
So, get this: as Bill and I were sitting at our table ingesting the food with relish, we looked uneasily across from us where a lengthy table was packed with Thai police. About 15 of them, they were all leaning back in their chairs with uncomfortable and surly expressions on their faces. We knew they were there as some sort of bribe dinner (the various forms of bribery are more rampant here than I ever imagined). We wondered why they didn’t get up and get their food, and soon we saw why. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in the typical Mexican restaurant outfits (you should have seen the sombreros on these Thai men!) came gliding over carrying steaming bowls of fried rice. They began depositing them, and other Thai dishes in front of the men. Bill and I were aghast. FRIED FUCKING RICE? Surrounded by all this good (and good quality) food, they were not only ordering a Thai dish, but a boring one at that! WHY? WHY? WHY?
It’s simple really, Thais like Thai food ONLY. This is something I have tried to comprehend (while questioning many Thais) and have never received a clear answer. Of course, Thai food is fantastic, but if I was required to eat it for the rest of my life, I’d be pretty damn depressed. Even English food is tolerable if one really needs a change.
Recently, I was on a work trip to Singapore. I was eating with a colleague, a Thai woman, in a giant food court filled with all sorts of ethnic treats. She ordered Thai food. I ordered Korean, even getting extra kimchi, thinking as a Thai, she’d be way into something pickled, sour and spicy. She adamantly refused to touch it. Not even a taste. “I’m Thai,” she said, “I only like Thai food.” I was stunned. Sure, most travelers have been “guilty” of eating at McDonald’s while abroad. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and it’s a piece of home. Besides a few strange differences, (“la biere” in France or a “sticky rice sandwich” in Thailand), we know we can go in there and get a Big Mac combo and feel the comfort in its memorable taste. But EVERY meal, McDonald’s? How do your tastebuds not scream out in agony of this lifelong repetition? Thai food is made up of about 10 basic ingredients, kind of like Taco Bell’s five. They’re blended in different ways and different amounts with different meats, but the tastes are similar. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes both, and always sour.
Perhaps due to the fact that repetition is one of those things that makes me feel like I may actually be going fucking insane, that I cannot understand how it’s so happily endured by others. What would make one eat ONLY his/her own ethnic food? Is it really the taste or some sort of psychological gastronomic security blanket? I’ll leave that question to the academics; I don’t have the strength or life span for a dissertation.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
Obsess! Stop!
So, I haven't written here in awhile. I was gone for a bit, but that's just an excuse. I guess like everything in my life, I become consumed by it, rabidly passionate, and then, I just...stop. It's not that I lose my steam, or .. well I guess it is. I don't exactly lose interest, I just get sick of stuff. This runs the gamut from things like pomelos to painting. For instance, I'll buy pomelos from the market. I'll eat them every day, for every meal. I'll become an EXPERT on them. Know how to pick 'em, how to peel 'em, the right way to eat 'em. And then, it starts to get to be too much. And I just, stop. I stop eating them. As mentioned, this happens with activities too, like painting. I'll be suddenly seized with inspiration and be maniacally focused. Sometimes I finish the painting, but often, I don't. Often I get to about 90% done before I quit. Well, it never feels like quitting, it always feels like a break, but I still have 2 unfinished paintings on the easel (and a new one drying near the air conditioner). You could blame it on my annoying ADD, but that's a cop-out too, because that's something I've learned to deal with, at least as best I can. It's a very annoying habit of mine, this finding things fantastically boring after being so totally consumed by it. I don't really know how to control it or stop it. Eventually, I am able to come back to the discarded thing anyway, though it usually takes some time.
The reason I'm talking about this is 1) to explain why I haven't come back to this for a bit, and 2) to give a fatalistic premonition to my declaration of wanting to be a writer. "Being a writer" is one of those things I've always wanted, just like "being an artist" or "being an actress" or "being a marine biologist." Things I always thought I had the ability to do, but couldn't really get around to it. Not to mention, any desire I ever had for the first two professions was muted by the promise of being a starving artist. If there was anything I wanted to avoid in my adult love, it was the prospect of eternal poverty. I don't need to be a millionaire, but fuck, by the time I graduated from high school I was sure as hell sick as living at or below the poverty level. Of course it shouldn't be like that, but it's hard to be the keeper of dreams when you've got no money and no prospects. So, others can take their self-righteousness and shove it.
Anyway, now I AM at a point in my life where I can pursue these previously suppressed passions. A writer? How fucking cliché. Who doesn't want to be a writer? ESPECIALLY of novels. You're supposed to start small, right? From your school newspaper to small articles to short stories, and so on. I suppose so, though I WAS an editor on my school newspaper and I have never liked short stories. For some reason, I love novels, but find short stories test my patience. I read them and feel like I'm back in grad school in one of my long and tedious seminars where I drew pie graphs on my notes and colored in a slice for every 5-10 minutes that ticked by. But marathon novels still interest me, though I find dense writing makes me want to puke.
Anyway (again), saying 'I want to be a writer' means nothing. And as mentioned above, I don't know if I have the self-discipline to finish a novel once it's started. I lack a great deal of self-motivation for long run. I have bought a few books -- the typical "Writer's Handbook," as well as "The Writing Life" and "How to Write Historical Fiction." We'll see if they really help. Historical fiction is my favorite. I'd like to do that, but it'd take a great deal of research and time. I love research, but I'd hate to get SO involved and fail. Rather write about something more familiar to me and fail.
The funny thing about "deciding" to become a writer is that suddenly every word you write (that the public sees, from a friend to the whole internet), feels 10x more vulnerable than before. I've only told two people (and since no one reads this, this doesn't matter), but even a simple email to them makes me hyper-aware of the words I write. Are there any misspellings? Do the words match, make sense, are consistent? Are there any antecedents? Yeah yeah, I know it's ridiculous. Give me some time, and I won't give a shit.
The reason I'm talking about this is 1) to explain why I haven't come back to this for a bit, and 2) to give a fatalistic premonition to my declaration of wanting to be a writer. "Being a writer" is one of those things I've always wanted, just like "being an artist" or "being an actress" or "being a marine biologist." Things I always thought I had the ability to do, but couldn't really get around to it. Not to mention, any desire I ever had for the first two professions was muted by the promise of being a starving artist. If there was anything I wanted to avoid in my adult love, it was the prospect of eternal poverty. I don't need to be a millionaire, but fuck, by the time I graduated from high school I was sure as hell sick as living at or below the poverty level. Of course it shouldn't be like that, but it's hard to be the keeper of dreams when you've got no money and no prospects. So, others can take their self-righteousness and shove it.
Anyway, now I AM at a point in my life where I can pursue these previously suppressed passions. A writer? How fucking cliché. Who doesn't want to be a writer? ESPECIALLY of novels. You're supposed to start small, right? From your school newspaper to small articles to short stories, and so on. I suppose so, though I WAS an editor on my school newspaper and I have never liked short stories. For some reason, I love novels, but find short stories test my patience. I read them and feel like I'm back in grad school in one of my long and tedious seminars where I drew pie graphs on my notes and colored in a slice for every 5-10 minutes that ticked by. But marathon novels still interest me, though I find dense writing makes me want to puke.
Anyway (again), saying 'I want to be a writer' means nothing. And as mentioned above, I don't know if I have the self-discipline to finish a novel once it's started. I lack a great deal of self-motivation for long run. I have bought a few books -- the typical "Writer's Handbook," as well as "The Writing Life" and "How to Write Historical Fiction." We'll see if they really help. Historical fiction is my favorite. I'd like to do that, but it'd take a great deal of research and time. I love research, but I'd hate to get SO involved and fail. Rather write about something more familiar to me and fail.
The funny thing about "deciding" to become a writer is that suddenly every word you write (that the public sees, from a friend to the whole internet), feels 10x more vulnerable than before. I've only told two people (and since no one reads this, this doesn't matter), but even a simple email to them makes me hyper-aware of the words I write. Are there any misspellings? Do the words match, make sense, are consistent? Are there any antecedents? Yeah yeah, I know it's ridiculous. Give me some time, and I won't give a shit.
Monday, August 19, 2002
Sex in the City
You know, I have to admit I’ve always been fascinated with Bangkok’s endless supply of “TV rooms” or “Short-time hotels.” Nestled not-so-subtly between such places as store-front homes, petrol stations, and noodle-soup vendors, and sporting discrete, high cement walls next to their flashing “TV HOTEL” signs complete with beckoning arrow, these hotels appear every few blocks or so, from the diminutive to the unabashedly dramatic. (How’s that for a Preamble-like sentence?). What I find so fascinating about them is their combination of the batting-eye virgin and the gyrating “do me, big boy” prostitute. This is sort of how sex seems to be portrayed to me all over Bangkok. No, sex is only something done by husband and wife and we DON’T talk about it. But sure, there IS an incredible sex industry in which THAI MEN (no, those naughty white and Japanese men only make up a single digit percentage of those using a prostitute’s services) are populating these hotels of happiness.
Let me describe these hotels. They are single rooms, with a large bed, dim lighting, a bathroom with a shower, and of course, a TV. They normally have a single purpose – a discrete place to have sex. This is what happens. You drive up in your car and quickly turn into the area of the hotel. Immediately, smiling young Thai men wave flashlights much as those who help land planes do (they try to make the whole area as dark as possible, often with concrete roofs above), beckoning the car forward. Middle-aged women armed with cans of disinfectant walk around the place slowly, exchanging soiled sheets for clean ones. All one sees now are stalls, each with a colorful curtain displaying a large number, pulled tightly across it. The men run quickly to the curtain, fling it back, allow your car to drive in, and then rush it back into place, concealing your car behind it’s vinyl shield. There, in front of your car’s bumper, is a door. Inside that door is your ticket to paradise. Normally, you pay by the hour. Probably around $4-5 USD. The place is yours now, no questions asked.
Several times a week I find myself driving through these hotels. There are several blocks of them that connect from near my home to a nearby mall. By using them as a shortcut, I avoid the menacing traffic of Bangkok and all its danger and headaches. In return, I get an interesting look at what Bangkok pretends to abhor, and yet with a smirk and wink, looks the other way.
These places in their simplicity flourish. What does this mean?? Well, it means that there are a LOT of people who want to have sex and don’t have a place of their own to do that in. This makes sense. Most Thais live in relatively large family units (a house with parents, children, grandparents, etc.). A Thai living on his or her own is rare (and expensive). I personally know of one young woman who must travel up to an hour and half to and from work each day. I ask her why she doesn’t get a condo near school, and she says, “I don’t want to. I like living with my family. I like to come home and eat with them and talk to them.” This is said in all sincerity and I believe her. This is a woman who is engaged to a boyfriend she loves very much. If I was her, I’d have scrambled off to my own place long ago. But, it just doesn’t seem to be that way here. Family is just more important. Growing up in individualistic (yay!) America, this is hard to comprehend much of the time, but it seems to be true for most. A “sense of family” is something I never had, since I had such a fucked up one, so the individualism of America suits me fine, but I am viewed as odd here, because I live by myself and don’t seem to want or need anyone’s help.
What does it also mean? Infidelity, particularly in males, is fantastically high. Thai women grudgingly accept this, claiming that it’s a trade-off since females control the money and the children. Personally, it’s not the kind of exchange I’d like, but I am lucky enough to have the choice to avoid it. I have talked to many Thai women about this. It is kind of a sad burden. I wonder what the rate of women’s infidelity is. There is not much of a male prostitute culture (that which exists caters primarily to gay men), but once in awhile you hear things. Recently, a club where women pay to have men dance with them (and supposedly also sleep with them) was crashed by the police. You don’t hear about the police crashing the thousands of brothels and bar girl-inhabited places much. Anyway, these hotels are in a sense, a nod of approval for these men. Would hundreds, or thousands of TV room hotels exist if it was mostly married women who were taking their bar boys for a roll in the hay? I suspect not. But how is this different from any other place in the world?
Another thing that always makes me smirk, is the usual elaborate and large “spirit house” that is set up at these things. A spirit house is kind of like a mini chapel, and they can be set up anywhere, usually outside a home or business. I often see very dramatic ones at short-time hotels, and often see young women leaving the hotels and paying respect to these houses on their way out. A friend and I talking about Patpong (one of the sex tourist districts), noted that the girls would dance (and possibly screw for cash) all nigh, and then the next morning be fresh-faced, bowing and scraping at the local temple, in all true sincerity. In the U.S., this would be seem as some sort of mockery. How can you be spiritual and be a prostitute at the same time? Why not, I say? Mary Magdalene did it.
This reminds of something I saw on CNN today. A young, beautiful, and articulate princess of Swaziland was advocating and pushing a giant white rope (“tassle”) that all female virgins should wear to promote abstinence – particularly up to the age of 21. And why?? Well, besides the fact that this ridiculously-huge rope was claimed to be a reclaiming of traditional beliefs, the real reason was to PREVENT AIDS!
*cough* *splutter*
Excuse me? If the women stay virgins until they’re 21 (and supposedly married), THIS is going to help solve the spread of AIDS? HELLO? Does anyone REALLY believe it is the married women who are responsible for the spread of AIDS in Africa? I may not be the most educated woman on this subject, but I know full well that it is the single and MARRIED men who sleep around (also with prostitutes) and then come home to their wives and children who are the real carriers of this disease. So, a woman is a good girl. She stays a virgin until she is married at, let’s say, 22. Her husband sleeps with her, gets her pregnant. And, he also gives her another gift – AIDS. Well, isn’t that special. Now, that GOOD wife and her innocent baby are AIDS victims. Rah, rah tradition.
Let me describe these hotels. They are single rooms, with a large bed, dim lighting, a bathroom with a shower, and of course, a TV. They normally have a single purpose – a discrete place to have sex. This is what happens. You drive up in your car and quickly turn into the area of the hotel. Immediately, smiling young Thai men wave flashlights much as those who help land planes do (they try to make the whole area as dark as possible, often with concrete roofs above), beckoning the car forward. Middle-aged women armed with cans of disinfectant walk around the place slowly, exchanging soiled sheets for clean ones. All one sees now are stalls, each with a colorful curtain displaying a large number, pulled tightly across it. The men run quickly to the curtain, fling it back, allow your car to drive in, and then rush it back into place, concealing your car behind it’s vinyl shield. There, in front of your car’s bumper, is a door. Inside that door is your ticket to paradise. Normally, you pay by the hour. Probably around $4-5 USD. The place is yours now, no questions asked.
Several times a week I find myself driving through these hotels. There are several blocks of them that connect from near my home to a nearby mall. By using them as a shortcut, I avoid the menacing traffic of Bangkok and all its danger and headaches. In return, I get an interesting look at what Bangkok pretends to abhor, and yet with a smirk and wink, looks the other way.
These places in their simplicity flourish. What does this mean?? Well, it means that there are a LOT of people who want to have sex and don’t have a place of their own to do that in. This makes sense. Most Thais live in relatively large family units (a house with parents, children, grandparents, etc.). A Thai living on his or her own is rare (and expensive). I personally know of one young woman who must travel up to an hour and half to and from work each day. I ask her why she doesn’t get a condo near school, and she says, “I don’t want to. I like living with my family. I like to come home and eat with them and talk to them.” This is said in all sincerity and I believe her. This is a woman who is engaged to a boyfriend she loves very much. If I was her, I’d have scrambled off to my own place long ago. But, it just doesn’t seem to be that way here. Family is just more important. Growing up in individualistic (yay!) America, this is hard to comprehend much of the time, but it seems to be true for most. A “sense of family” is something I never had, since I had such a fucked up one, so the individualism of America suits me fine, but I am viewed as odd here, because I live by myself and don’t seem to want or need anyone’s help.
What does it also mean? Infidelity, particularly in males, is fantastically high. Thai women grudgingly accept this, claiming that it’s a trade-off since females control the money and the children. Personally, it’s not the kind of exchange I’d like, but I am lucky enough to have the choice to avoid it. I have talked to many Thai women about this. It is kind of a sad burden. I wonder what the rate of women’s infidelity is. There is not much of a male prostitute culture (that which exists caters primarily to gay men), but once in awhile you hear things. Recently, a club where women pay to have men dance with them (and supposedly also sleep with them) was crashed by the police. You don’t hear about the police crashing the thousands of brothels and bar girl-inhabited places much. Anyway, these hotels are in a sense, a nod of approval for these men. Would hundreds, or thousands of TV room hotels exist if it was mostly married women who were taking their bar boys for a roll in the hay? I suspect not. But how is this different from any other place in the world?
Another thing that always makes me smirk, is the usual elaborate and large “spirit house” that is set up at these things. A spirit house is kind of like a mini chapel, and they can be set up anywhere, usually outside a home or business. I often see very dramatic ones at short-time hotels, and often see young women leaving the hotels and paying respect to these houses on their way out. A friend and I talking about Patpong (one of the sex tourist districts), noted that the girls would dance (and possibly screw for cash) all nigh, and then the next morning be fresh-faced, bowing and scraping at the local temple, in all true sincerity. In the U.S., this would be seem as some sort of mockery. How can you be spiritual and be a prostitute at the same time? Why not, I say? Mary Magdalene did it.
This reminds of something I saw on CNN today. A young, beautiful, and articulate princess of Swaziland was advocating and pushing a giant white rope (“tassle”) that all female virgins should wear to promote abstinence – particularly up to the age of 21. And why?? Well, besides the fact that this ridiculously-huge rope was claimed to be a reclaiming of traditional beliefs, the real reason was to PREVENT AIDS!
*cough* *splutter*
Excuse me? If the women stay virgins until they’re 21 (and supposedly married), THIS is going to help solve the spread of AIDS? HELLO? Does anyone REALLY believe it is the married women who are responsible for the spread of AIDS in Africa? I may not be the most educated woman on this subject, but I know full well that it is the single and MARRIED men who sleep around (also with prostitutes) and then come home to their wives and children who are the real carriers of this disease. So, a woman is a good girl. She stays a virgin until she is married at, let’s say, 22. Her husband sleeps with her, gets her pregnant. And, he also gives her another gift – AIDS. Well, isn’t that special. Now, that GOOD wife and her innocent baby are AIDS victims. Rah, rah tradition.
Friday, August 09, 2002
The Foreign Service Exam, and The Morality of "Ignorance is Bliss."
Can you tell by my reading list that I’m doing some studying? Mark, you’ll hate this, but I registered for the Foreign Service Exam and I decided to start cramming for it. Yes, I know, they're going to turn me into a slut in Afghanistan, sleeping with nasty Abdul the gundealer for information.
As for the studying, it’s fabulous, actually. It’s like studying for a big, important test, and yet, if you do terrible on it, who cares?? I’m really enjoying myself. Reading all this history, political science, and economics stuff has been fun for me. I’m learning a lot about the American Presidents, a subject I’ve never felt very well-educated on. Sure, it’s not the greatest source of education, but I really like these Idiots/Dummies/No-nonsense guides. I think they’re a good place to start. We all need a decent foundation in order to go into the minute detail of academia.
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I have a strange philosophical thought to put forward. In the world of “morality,” is something considered a sin if you only feel guilty when caught? Your immediate response might be “Of course not!” but in reality, I think it’s something to think about.
For example, you do something that is beneficial to you, and which would hurt your mother emotionally if she ever discovered it. Of course, if your mother never knows about this action, she will be in the land of “ignorance is bliss” and well, so will you, since you have benefited from said action. After a great deal of time has gone by, your mother does discover said action. Naturally, she is hurt and feels a bit betrayed. NOW…yes, NOW you feel like total dog shit. You didn’t really suffer from guilt (unless you are Catholic) up until this point. What you were doing was too wonderful for you, and sometimes something that makes you happy is difficult to see as wrong.
Is this way of action really wrong? Will it encourage us to do things that society considers as immoral, and then of course, try everything one can to not get caught? You know, although rules and such can be a pain in the ass, and when you’re a child, can seem so arbitrary, when you’re an adult, they start to make sense. MOST rules are created for a REASON. Some are more obvious than others, of course. But experience often tells us, as we get older (I’m pushing 30, kind of excitedly), that often rules are put where they are for a good reason (and in less frequent times, to benefit someone or others).
We tell people in society that if you hurt someone, and they are ignorant of that fact (thus they are not truly hurt), you are doing a deceitful, immoral thing. If you are gaining some pleasure from this unknown immoral act, then it makes it much worse, because you are gaining pleasure from the possible harm it could cause if it was revealed. It seems a bit abstract to me, and of course, society DOES tell us its immortal for a reason – we don’t want everyone going around doing things that could be hurtful to others for their own satisfaction!
Yes, I am guilty of said action. I have hurt someone. Am I trying to excuse myself? Hell no, I accept the consequences (and subsequent guilt) for my actions. And anything terrible I may feel right now is because I don’t enjoy hurting others and would love to prevent it. “Well, you should have thought of that when you did what you did.” Sure, maybe. In this life, if we are trying to be good to ourselves and each other, we try not to hurt them. And sometimes, we try to live life to the fullest, and sometimes that means doing what’s best for oneself. This may hurt people. Now, I am not talking about stomping on people on your way to the top (especially for some sort of monetary gain). I am talking about doing something that makes you feel alive, and then, if it is kept from the “right” person, you continue to feel alive, happy, maybe even fulfilled. Oh mother, now you know, and now you are hurt. And yes, I feel terrible that you are hurt, for I would never want that. BUT, if you did not feel hurt, would my action be wrong? Is it only the feelings of a person (who will hopefully one day forgive you) that makes something a sin? Ahhhhh “sin.” A Christian word. Sin, sin, sin. Sin is a slap in God’s face, when what we should really care about, is if it’s a slap in our fellow “human being’s” face.
I guess I don’t have a point. As someone who has tried hard to live life to the fullest, had a wonderful time, and still feel like I’m feeling awfully short, I do think that sometimes people get hurt, even though you don’t want them to, and even though your actions were intentional. I don’t think that necessarily always makes it so much more evil. I believe in regret and retribution, and strongly in accepting consequences for one’s actions. But like the tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it crash,…is it so that an action taken, that may make someone hurt IF they discover it, is that action a true horrible deed? A SIN? Maybe ignorance really is bliss, for all of us involved. I guess we all decide for ourselves.
P.S. OH god Oh god! They’re going to add a new Bob Saget sitcom to the lineup on my already super-limited cable stations here. *cry*
As for the studying, it’s fabulous, actually. It’s like studying for a big, important test, and yet, if you do terrible on it, who cares?? I’m really enjoying myself. Reading all this history, political science, and economics stuff has been fun for me. I’m learning a lot about the American Presidents, a subject I’ve never felt very well-educated on. Sure, it’s not the greatest source of education, but I really like these Idiots/Dummies/No-nonsense guides. I think they’re a good place to start. We all need a decent foundation in order to go into the minute detail of academia.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have a strange philosophical thought to put forward. In the world of “morality,” is something considered a sin if you only feel guilty when caught? Your immediate response might be “Of course not!” but in reality, I think it’s something to think about.
For example, you do something that is beneficial to you, and which would hurt your mother emotionally if she ever discovered it. Of course, if your mother never knows about this action, she will be in the land of “ignorance is bliss” and well, so will you, since you have benefited from said action. After a great deal of time has gone by, your mother does discover said action. Naturally, she is hurt and feels a bit betrayed. NOW…yes, NOW you feel like total dog shit. You didn’t really suffer from guilt (unless you are Catholic) up until this point. What you were doing was too wonderful for you, and sometimes something that makes you happy is difficult to see as wrong.
Is this way of action really wrong? Will it encourage us to do things that society considers as immoral, and then of course, try everything one can to not get caught? You know, although rules and such can be a pain in the ass, and when you’re a child, can seem so arbitrary, when you’re an adult, they start to make sense. MOST rules are created for a REASON. Some are more obvious than others, of course. But experience often tells us, as we get older (I’m pushing 30, kind of excitedly), that often rules are put where they are for a good reason (and in less frequent times, to benefit someone or others).
We tell people in society that if you hurt someone, and they are ignorant of that fact (thus they are not truly hurt), you are doing a deceitful, immoral thing. If you are gaining some pleasure from this unknown immoral act, then it makes it much worse, because you are gaining pleasure from the possible harm it could cause if it was revealed. It seems a bit abstract to me, and of course, society DOES tell us its immortal for a reason – we don’t want everyone going around doing things that could be hurtful to others for their own satisfaction!
Yes, I am guilty of said action. I have hurt someone. Am I trying to excuse myself? Hell no, I accept the consequences (and subsequent guilt) for my actions. And anything terrible I may feel right now is because I don’t enjoy hurting others and would love to prevent it. “Well, you should have thought of that when you did what you did.” Sure, maybe. In this life, if we are trying to be good to ourselves and each other, we try not to hurt them. And sometimes, we try to live life to the fullest, and sometimes that means doing what’s best for oneself. This may hurt people. Now, I am not talking about stomping on people on your way to the top (especially for some sort of monetary gain). I am talking about doing something that makes you feel alive, and then, if it is kept from the “right” person, you continue to feel alive, happy, maybe even fulfilled. Oh mother, now you know, and now you are hurt. And yes, I feel terrible that you are hurt, for I would never want that. BUT, if you did not feel hurt, would my action be wrong? Is it only the feelings of a person (who will hopefully one day forgive you) that makes something a sin? Ahhhhh “sin.” A Christian word. Sin, sin, sin. Sin is a slap in God’s face, when what we should really care about, is if it’s a slap in our fellow “human being’s” face.
I guess I don’t have a point. As someone who has tried hard to live life to the fullest, had a wonderful time, and still feel like I’m feeling awfully short, I do think that sometimes people get hurt, even though you don’t want them to, and even though your actions were intentional. I don’t think that necessarily always makes it so much more evil. I believe in regret and retribution, and strongly in accepting consequences for one’s actions. But like the tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it crash,…is it so that an action taken, that may make someone hurt IF they discover it, is that action a true horrible deed? A SIN? Maybe ignorance really is bliss, for all of us involved. I guess we all decide for ourselves.
P.S. OH god Oh god! They’re going to add a new Bob Saget sitcom to the lineup on my already super-limited cable stations here. *cry*
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