For some reason, some people like to tell me how to live my life, or what little improvements I should do to make me a better, more acceptable version of myself. These opinions are always unsolicited yet delivered with such contempt and conviction you’d think I purposely go out of my way to irritate them with my existence.
Sometimes they vapidly discuss me during break times; other times through furiously exchanged email missives. At times they go around drumming up support for their cause (“Reform Ijah Support Group” has a nice ring to it, no?); other times when there is nothing new to talk about they re-hash and re-examine every tedious detail from last week’s, err, discussion session so that they don’t lose sight of my shortcomings.
I collectively refer to them as my ‘best friends’ (who else would talk about you incessantly but 1. your mother, and 2. your best friends?).
I think it is amusing that to some people my comings and goings are the highlights of their day (lives, even?). I’d like to think that I, in my small way, help them get through these wretched times by providing a continuous supply of entertainment and gossiping material to take their minds off other things like, oh, the weakening Ringgit and Norman Hakim’s khalwat case.
And I know well-meaning people are just being nice when they come to me and attempt to relay what people are saying about me. Appreciate the thought. But I could not care any lesser about it than I do now, and so should you.
There’s more to life than talking smack about other people. And I know for sure there is more to my life than caring about these people who talk smack about me. I hardly pick up the phone to call my loved ones, you think I’d spend sleepless nights thinking about my best friends? That’s giving them way too much face time.
Blowing off steam about work, ranting about the stupidity of it all, moaning about the unbelievable and thoroughly misguided superiority complex of certain factions — those are common. Everybody does it. You don’t live in a bubble.
But b*tching about what people wear, how they talk, how they live their lives, who they date, how they spend their money, what they blog about, the pictures they plaster in their facebook profiles, that they are fat or ugly or blasphemous (celebrities excluded – you live your life in the public eye, you should expect some flak, it comes with the territory honey) — that is just so… banal (I contemplated dropping the “b” but underage kids read this blog too). Go ahead and b*tch if you want to. Indulge. You are entitled to your opinion. Me? I’ll make like Richard Feynman and won’t give a hoot about what other people think.
Why so serious? (with a quick nod to the late Mr Ledger)
Have a non-fat, low-sugar mango and passionfruit frozen yogurt.
And to those who need a little persuasion to pay no heed to your respective best friends, this checklist is created especially for you. Pass it around. I’m giving that way :-)
Aquila non captat muscas (latin). The eagle doesn’t capture flies (or in plain English, don’t sweat over the small things).