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Showing posts with label BLEH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BLEH. Show all posts

Tuesday, 18 September 2012

40. Mean girls


As I write this, my blood is absolutely boiling because one of the mothers at school has been talking about me.  Apparently I am a real 'party animal' and am always in bars and nightclubs! This ‘juicy newsflash' reached my ears when her ten-year-old shared the ‘gossip’ with a classmate, who in-turn alerted my heart-on-the-sleeve-sensitive-Tia.  After comforting a distraught Tia who was crushed from what she saw as a vilification of her mom, we talked about the unfortunate reality of certain types in the world.  Then, I rang the source.  Of course she expressed shock and denied liability, oscillating between laying the blame on her child, and insisting she had never EVER spoken about me to anyone in her life! Except, this was not an isolated incident because two separate sources had already blown the whistle on her and both times, I was puzzled because this girl didn’t know me beyond the rudimentary greetings we had exchanged at school!  Was I tempted to call her out on it.  Yes.  Could I be bothered?  No.  Frankly, I am allergic to drama.  I rang her to show Tia the importance of standing up to bullies. BLEH!

Through the years, I’ve had so many encounters with all sorts of bitchy varieties.  Why oh why do I attract them?  Now THAT’S a VERY good question!  Matt says I am an easy target.  A girlfriend said it was probably because I am too ‘open’ and friendly.  Anyhow, whatever the reason, I find it quite maddening!

From the girl in Hong Kong (AND the one in London!) who each wormed their way into my inner circle, only to distort and falsify conversations in order to sabotage my friendships with other people; to the acquaintance who approached me one day just to share her opinion of how stupid I looked with pigtails.  Did I mention Ms ‘charming’ often wore the most hideous of weaves in garish styles and colours?  Ahh, but I must not stoop to her level because two ‘wrongs’ don’t make a ‘right’ and being candid does not give you the license to be unkind.  Although, I AM tempted to walk around with a sign that reads: Haters, take your drama somewhere else!  SIGH.

As a mother, it especially pains me to see any child on the receiving end of spiteful behaviour -- and its even worse when it is your child being bullied.  My gut still turns itself inside-out when I recall how a handful of girls at school made Faith’s life miserable for a few years.  From excluding her to name calling, to actual physical abuse.  We had endless discussions about how to deal with the bullies.  Crucially, we also talked about how their behaviour was more likely a manifestation of their insecurities and possibly stuff they were going through at home as opposed to a reflection of who she was.  To her credit, Faith found the confidence to celebrate her individuality, steered away from the mean girls and found people who didn’t make her feel bad about herself.

Getting back to the original incident that kicked off this rant, the next morning at breakfast, Tia had a few questions. She wanted to know why I didn’t tell the woman I knew about all the other things she had said about me.  I replied there was nothing to gain from revealing the true extent of my knowledge.  She then asked, “What are you going to do the next time you see her?”  My response was no doubt long-winded but I expressed that while it wasn’t a big deal I was not on this woman’s ‘BFF’ list, and that her opinion of me was HER problem, not mine; I wasn’t going to let someone else’s maliciousness make me feel bad about myself or stop me from being friendly.  I then finished our conversation with an old Eleanor Roosevelt quote: 

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent”

That made my little girl break into a big smile as she skipped off to get ready for school. 


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Saturday, 11 August 2012

34. Allergic to competition

Olympics fever has people all over the world glued to their sets, cheering countries and athletes on.  As for me, the only real interest I’ve shown these past so-many-days was for the Opening Ceremony.  Now THAT brought a lump to my throat.  Why the general lack of enthusiasm?  For starters, the time difference, PLUS I am rubbish at sedentary viewing (too fidgety!).  And, if I was honest, whilst I enjoy the celebration of sportsmanship and the personal stories, I am not one for competition where for every winner, stands a whole posse of defeated souls.   Yes, I’ve been found out:  I don’t enjoy competition and the angst and agro that comes with it.  Its an 'allergy'.

I grew up in a very competitive family and when I was a child, life seemed to revolve around discussions about who got the best grade, the most As, was the most loved, etcetera.  It didn’t help that my aeronautical engineer father placed a ridiculously high value on As for science and mathematical subjects and was hugely contemptuous of everything else.  He regarded history, literature and English as disciplines introduced for the morons of society.  Much to his angst, owing to the slant of his viewpoint, I belonged to that particular group.  As such, my killer grades for what I excelled in were routinely dismissed with a “any idiot can get an A” whilst my paltry marks for maths (especially!) invited humiliation and sometimes a beating.  When my literature teacher wrote of my “tenacity” in a report card, my father interpreted the remark that I had been stubborn – so I got beaten up for that too.  I should mention I was confused at the time of the beating, wondering what I had done to invite such a ‘terrible report’ (as per my dad’s reason for the walloping) as I could have sworn I was one of Mrs Grainger’s better students seeing I routinely topped my class.  It was only years later when the memory re-surfaced that I realized my father did not understand the real meaning of ‘tenacity’.  Ah, but I digress.  

As I was saying, unfortunately for me, next to one brother gifted in Maths (now a shipbroker), another a natural with language and the written word (now a professor), plus the two extra brothers who went on to become an anesthetist and a lawyer respectively, I was officially the dummy of the group – by HIS reckoning.  But that’s okay with me --  just as long as I didn’t have to participate in stupid mind games and soul destroying politics.  And so, with such a 'stellar' introduction to the mechanics of ‘competition’, it is little wonder I am not a fan of rivalry, no matter how friendly.

But of course, it is inevitable to go through life without crossing paths with people who are competitive about EVERYTHING!  From racing to the traffic lights (even if they are red), to being competitive about jobs and earning power.  Unfortunately, much as it pains me to typecast, women (as a whole), can be the biggest culprits.  Sorry girls, but you know there is truth in what I am saying.  

It starts early, with competition revving up around the 10-year-old mark: an unspoken contest to be the smartest, the prettiest, the most sporty, the most popular.  Developing into a race for the best boyfriend, record-breaking college results, the better job, the ultimate wardrobe, etcetera, etcetera.  And then, the ultimate whammy: motherhood!  Who’s baby was the best sleeper or the best eater.  I’ve even had a woman demand why her daughter did not have the same curly hair as the waves my three daughters sport (and NO I do not colour or perm my children's hair!)!  Bizarre!  And then, when Faith was applying for schools after sitting her 11+ exams (in London) came the “Oh!  Which schools are you applying for?  Well!  Six schools have hinted at a promised-spot for MY daughter!  We just have to decide which one will provide the best contacts for her later on.”  Seriously?  BLEH!   

Don’t get me wrong, I am fiercely competitive – it is in my DNA.  I am stubbornly determined and rarely give up.  But the only person I compete against is myself, constantly setting targets and goals, always trying to improve on my last efforts.  I don’t, however, feel the need to be consumed by anything or have the desire to possess a killer instinct; nor do I have a ‘win at all cost’ mentality.  For me, my mantra revolves around balance, being true to myself and having integrity. 

My girls will have make their own decisions about how they feel about competition and while I encourage them to give things their 100 percent and tell them nothing is impossible; I also talk to them about the importance of enjoying what they do, balance, fair play and being gracious – regardless of whether they end up victorious or not.

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Sunday, 5 August 2012

33. Going 'off-piste'


For some unknown reason, whenever we have a dinner party, I find myself not only trying a new recipe, but also going ‘off-piste’.  Depending on the disparity between how the flavors come together and what I think a dish should taste like, dictates what seasoning (if any) or extras I add.  But it is quite possibly the ONLY instance where I routinely veer off the ‘beaten track’ and become rather adventurous – which is quite the opposite of my 40-something ‘everyday self’.  

Take my training for example.  Matt and I have signed on to tackle a running event in Angkor Wat in December later this year.  Not a fan of running more than 45 minutes (yes, its THAT precise!), I only said yes due to my romantic notions of the location of the race.  And so, I thought I had better take a good look at my weekly routine to determine how much my ‘game’ needed raising. 

Mondays is a cycle circuit up, down and around Mount Faber to strengthen my 40-something-year-old knees for the week ahead; Tuesdays is a 7km run; Wednesdays and Fridays see me at the gym doing weights, a small cycle and a shorter run; Thursdays is a 10km run; Saturdays is interval training involving 2-minute sprints (BLEH!); and Sundays sees me COLLAPSE in a heap!  All in all, if the route is unchanged, I can tackle it relatively comfortably as I am familiar with all the twists and turns of the course (quite often letting gravity pull me along!) and I distract myself by pondering about what to write about next -- never mind all the limping when I am done (but that’s for ANOTHER story)! But, when Matt decides to come along on my run AND THEN takes us on a different route (just for the ‘adventure’!), I struggle mentally and lag far far FAR behind; my labored panting peppered with “You’re killing me!” and “Argh!  Where are you taking me?!”, complimented by “I’m sloooooooooowly dyyyyying!” and “Please can we walk for a few metres?”  Just as well I have a patient husband who reminds me its ‘all in my head’!

I look back at my past and wonder if I was always like this.  After all, I couldn’t be THAT risk-averse if having decided to live life on MY terms, I left home at 17, penniless and with nothing more than a bag of clothes; or when I took off to Japan to sing on a cruise ship without a single word of Japanese; or all those times I started little businesses from scratch; or fell in love?  Risks?  I’ve taken aplenty!

But I find that the combination of becoming a mother, age and time constraints brought about from the children’s schedules have morphed me into a bit of a control freak, constantly in a state of micro-managing possible challenges that may lay ahead.  Choosing safer options, with plans B and C tucked in my back pocket in case plan A doesn’t quite work out.  And it has its pros and cons.

I find this inherited quality comes in useful when I have to juggle this family-of-five’s schedule (six if you count Buddy!) because it enables for majority of the elements that make up our crazed lives to fall into place – most of the time.  And so, I am accepting of the necessity of being more circumspect than my younger self -- life is no longer just about me.

And so, yet another reason why I am lucky to be married to Matt: he who reminds me (and the girls) of the importance of going off-piste every now-and-then and the fun in being spontaneous – which is why every so often, I allow myself to be led on his crazy adventures to venture into the uncertain; to stay young, find new reasons to laugh, create fresh memories and learn something new.


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