Saturday, 27 April 2013


There is no such thing as 'self-satisfied.' There is no such thing as confidence. It's all an act. We, humans, are creatures of love and we need constant reassurances. We need pats on the back and congratulatory hugs. We need birthdays, presents and promotions to feel important, worthy. We need family and lovers and friends to feel loved. We are all needy. Needy for acceptance.

Everyone has put on an outfit and thought, 'Hey, this makes me look great!', walked out with their head held high. But can any of you say, honestly, that you haven't felt discomfited when a better dressed stranger has looked you up and down in condescension? I don't think so.

Although present in everyone (according to me), there are degrees of diffidence, of insecurity. There are people who need to wear branded clothes in order to increase(?) their self-worth. But there also people out there who only befriend good- looking people just because they feel good around them. Trust me, they exist.

The logic behind this is that since they feel they are lacking in certain areas of their lives, or physical appearance, they try to cover them up with something that has been widely admired to fill the void. It might make them feel better for the time being, but I'm sure it only makes them feel more inadequate without the solace of their respective necessities.

I used to know this girl who was an extreme case of insecurity. She was actually really pretty. She had great friends, lots of money, namely everything that a person needs to feel secure. But somehow it got into her head that she wasn't good enough. She, then, started making up entire personalities. She actually went lengths making them look real: created their Facebook profiles, created a background story for them, made up academic achievements they were supposed to have acquired, etc etc. Now that bichaari must have been psychologically unwell, I'm sorry to have brought her up, but it just goes on to show to what extents people go in order to make themselves feel likeable and loved.

 I am a different sort of touchy. I just always need second opinions. I need my sister or my mom or my best friend to tell me I look good, my term paper is acceptable, my writing piece is readable and so on. It's a solvable problem.

Why? Why do WE, super intelligent beings, toppers of the food chain, need to feel good about ourselves? Why do we all care what others think of us regardless of our age, sex, beauty or social status? Why do we, like lesser creatures, need to be part of the crowd, need to follow each other blindly?

Hey, don't look at me; I'm not giving out answers here, just putting a question forward. Scientists should really work on solving our personal little intra-planetary problems before heading out to Mars to find life. We have a reputation, an image to hold up in front of Martians after all. ;)

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

Annoying people

Contrary to what the title suggests, this is not a chapter from a handbook that gives direction on how to annoy people. This is a whiny journal entry about the types of annoying people I have had the displeasure of meeting.

The utterly hateful kind are those who spoil your movies and books for you by spoiling the suspense. My brother seems to thinks it's hilarious. But I'll tell you what: if you're reading or hearing this and yet you try to do it to me, don't blame me for not giving you a heads up before murdering you with an axe. I waited months for the last Harry Potter book to come out; my brother doesn't even read! Just to annoy me, which is an acceptable motive for anything brothers do, he skimmed through the last few pages and told me what happens. Sigh. The neighbours still swear they heard a banshee that day.

Then there are people who have no interest in any other aspect of you except your looks and your sexuality. They're constantly trying to set you up with a "good-looking" cousin/friend of theirs. Or worse still, trying to chat you up themselves. Get a life, really.

Proceeding the list are people who don't even know what they're doing wrong. They call you by your nickname at the first meeting, scroll through your pictures while "checking out" your phone, invade on your personal space and show up at dinners and lunches uninvited. They just don't get the hint. They even stoop as low as to assuming you're going to pay their bills off your pocket money!

Now, I don't know why, but i have this reserved hate-space for people who write, or speak, English incessantly, even though they have terrible grammar. On top of that, they type with so many extra X's that I think they might have swallowed Professor Utonium's Chemical X. They send me into a deep state of hysteria that only wears off after i open and close the dictionary obsessively, not quite unlike Lady Macbeth's fetish of washing her hands. Exaggeration aside, it really is painful.

The worst part is that once your brain decides it doesn't like someone, every single action of theirs gets on your nerves. Their laugh makes you mad. Their compliments offend you and their very presence makes your skin prickle.

It's a public service message to these disregardful naggers, just, don't be annoying. Thanks, no offense. ;)