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Of Chivalry and Jurassic Park
Wed., 10/10/01 : 12:59 p.m.
 Time: 8:43 am
Day: Wednesday
Mood: Patriotic, ready for argument (due to big breakfast)
Situation: The MRT is crowded. 6 strapping young men occupy the whole row of train seats; 5 women are holding on to the handrails in front of them, me included.
Big Deal: one woman is pregnant.
Assessment: "There's something wrong with this picture."
Plan of Action: Striking conversation with fellow passengers in an attempt to correct all wrongs.
Me to yuppie woman on my right: (in a subtle yet audible voice for the men to hear) "Isn't there something wrong with this picture?" *looks at the men, then to the pregnant woman at my left, then at the men once again*
Yuppie Woman: (picking up my train of thought) "There certainly is." *looks pointedly at the men sitting.
The 6 Men: shifting uncomfortably in their seats but trying to look suave
Me: "I mean, I wouldn't care myself, but there is such a thing as 'common courtesy'."
Pregnant Woman: *listens on curiously to our conversation*
The 6 Men: one looks at fellow passenger, who shrugs in return. Another still trying to look suave. Another promptly yawns and pretends to fall asleep.
Yuppie Woman: "I know! I believe in equality, but this is ridiculous."
Me: "Chivalry is dead." (pause for effect and for the weight of my words to sink in, process and hopefully be acted upon)
Pregnant woman: looks at me and Yuppie Woman, then blinks at the men who are now blinking up at her.
Victory: One of the men finally realises what he should do. One man stands up and offers his seat to the pregnant woman. Pregnant woman thinks, then hesitantly sits down. Yuppie Woman smiles at me. I smile back at Yuppie Woman. We both smile at Pregnant woman. Pregnant Woman smiles back at us hesitantly.
Ego Deflater: Pregnant Woman: "I'm not pregnant."
Needless to say, that was the LONGEST train ride me and Yuppie Woman had ever taken.
The Moral of the Story: Men must realise that in a world where we scream for equality, women still have an eye open for Chivalry, though we don't admit to it. Yet it is not a do-or-die situation: We've adapted and accepted, but it can be compared to Jurassic Park: Extinction is accepted, but when dinosaurs are revived, it's a good topic of conversation.
The Underlying Truth: But beware : Chivalry is okay once in a while. Remember that Jurassic Park 2 was not eagerly embraced by the public, and a total of five people in the universe watched Jurassic Park 3. And only 2 thought it was a really good movie (namely, the producer and co-producer). Be chivalrous as often as World Trade Centers are hit... once or twice (no offense).
Facts for Commuters: Non-pregnant women wear clothes for pregnant women for REASONS OTHER THAN PREGNANCY. Learn to distinguish so as to be more politically correct, and for you to depart from the train with your pride intact.
End point: You will truly never be able to please everyone you meet in life.
A jurassic day to all, Kala
They all look good from a distance but i tell you im the one
Tuesday, 10/09/01 : 06:20 p.m.
i am terribly passe and dry and out of ideas.
quiteagirlthat'smekala
Twenty more chapters
Monday, October 8, 2001 : 05:02 p.m.
I can't believe it, I'm too stressed out, it's finals week and I've been cramming every night for one whole week nonstop, and I still have twenty chapters more to go. I've drank around 6 bottles of Red Bull and more cups of coffee. This is a really important finals in Biochemistry because if I fail this one, I am going to have to repeat this course and not graduate on time, as I had originally planned. My professor gave out additional handouts to read which will apparently be included in the exam at 5:50 yesterday aftenoon AFTER I'd left to study! Now, I have 20 chapters MORE to read, and 3 MORE chapters to read and absorb in TWENTY MINUTES before the exam actually starts...
What you've just read is a lie cause I've long graduated from college and I'm not in school anymore. Ha!
Something alchemical.
friday, 10-5-01 : 3.14 am
( 0.1 )
Conceptually, humour is tragedy. Just like a guy slipping on a banana peel.
Sometimes, I miss my laugh. The laugh that isn't polite. Isn't that sad, when someone forgets how one sounds when happy. The truth is, I used to be nervous whenever I spoke. It was because during certain times, I'd say something, and the last sentence, or words, that left my mouth would linger dangerously in the air, and I could hear it over and over, like a record playing.
Voices sound so strange over the microphone, over taped conversations during interviews, when watching yourself deliver a drunken speech caught on video. Voices always sound so rough-edged, so unreal.
( 0.2 )
And while I'm on the topic, if I could be another person for a day, I'd like to observe myself.
Here is why. Have you ever wondered how you look when your emotions are maundering? Do your eyes cloud over, does your mouth curl downwards slightly? Do your eyebrows rise in time with your thoughts? I'm talking about expression, the harmony a person's face manages to conduct. A face is one's Holy Ground, always --- because everything about a person's face makes you aware that you are in the middle of a quagmire.
You see your own face around an estimated 2% during the whole 24 hours (It varies if you're vainer than most, though). So for the remaining 98%, I'm amazed by the fact that it is others who are familiar with your face. Some other person has already memorized the arc of your eyelashes, or has seen the way you wrinkle your nose at a funny smell. It's almost unfair, but at the same time it's like a game of hide-and-seek. Hiding from oneself, and seeking who you are through others.
Are you as complicated as you are in the inside, even though you wish to be simple?
( 0.3 )
Maybe, I wanted to ask about concealment. And revealment, revelation. How much the skin conceals, how much the eyes reveal. And so on.
I'd like to be post-punk about it and say "I don't care what others think", but honestly... can you say you really don't care? If you didn't, why did you just spend two minutes primping yourself up in front of the mirror? Or why were you in such a bad mood on account of a bad hair day? What I'm saying focuses much on physical aspects, but maybe there is no barrier between the physical and personal. Maybe science had taught us so much about skin and veins and atoms and muscles that they forgot to tell us that the face is a mirror, and we're all bouncing off each other's reflections without being blinded. That's science too, isn't it? when did science get to be so calculated, so precise?
The lovely, bittersweet part of this useless rambling : how much of ourselves do we allow to reveal, and how little do we conceal?
When someone looks into my eyes, am I able to tell them that I would have drowned, long ago, if not for their presence?
When I smile, am I able to assure people that I have a million worlds swirling in my head, and that they exist, beautifully, in each one?
When I cry, do my tears draw a path across my cheek to spell out the words "I'm sorry"?
Over conversations during power failure, or simply under mooonlight, does the candle cast eyelash shadows in such a way that the person before me realises the immensity of concealment in my words, and the bravery I choose to reveal in the shadows?
( 0.4 )
Illusory paths. And it's true. It's true that conceptually, humour is tragedy. Words make too much sense. Concealment is just as strong as revelation. Everyone is breathing tornadoes.
If you're able to see yourself in others, I wouldn't be surprised if you realised that the world is, indeed, a tragically marvellous place.
That's the comedy of it all. Eyelashes and tears tell the most wonderful stories, so listen to that. The tiniest details have a revelation of sorts. Memorize the depth in someone's eyes, trace your fingers across someone's nose, breathe deeply into someone's hair. All we ever do, anyway, is step on one piece of Holy Ground to another.
Maybe soon I won't miss my laugh after all.
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