Tag: looking back

Five people in a meeting

chandler

What do you do in a meeting? I have a pretty short attention span for crappy yada yada and I zone out after a while. But if I do manage to stay awake, I look around at people of varying designations, gulping in tension while sweat runs down their faces.

There are the five common types of people in a meeting.

The bald guy: He’s the “bold” guy. The one who speaks in cliches like “bald is the new beautiful.” The one who thinks wordplay is his forte and everyone adores his clever wit. Alas, he may never know how mistaken he is.

The new recruit: She’s the fresh face in the company who’s running around introducing herself, asking questions, and making observations out of the obvious. She’s all eager to prove her worth, looking everywhere for the bubbling reputation — “even in the cannon’s mouth.”

The invisible: Ever seen a guy who looks like he’s not supopsed to be there? This invisible guy is the perfect combination of introversion and shyness. He’s still figuring out why he’s in this meeting at all, and wondering if he could go get a step out for a coffee.

The couple: The new weds, the new lovers, or just new team mates — they’re always together. Looking at them, you can’t help but wonder if one of them will fall off if they ever unlock their hands.

The speaker: *Clears throat* “Alright, everyone! If you can all write down your names in this sheet, we can go ahead and discuss why our WENUS (Weekly Estimated Net Usage Systems) has dropped this quarter.” Oh, and he never does anything to improve figures in the next quarter.

Any of them ring a bell? Or have you encountered other interesting types?

Weekend Plans

“So, what plans for the weekend?”

Don’t tell me you haven’t heard this question pop up in every corner on a Friday afternoon. Because I sure have heard it, and it rekindles my temper.

Why, you ask? It’s a harmless question, you might say. And I’d agree with you, except it’s a useless question too. It’s a conversation starter, yes, but the most I’ve seen people reveal about their weekend plans is their meeting with friends.

No one goes into much detail. Because it’s awkward to tell others you’re planing to hook up with a stranger on the first date, or you’re planning to elope with your high school sweetheart—or worse yet—that you’re planning on introducing “the one” to parents who never approved of your choices.

While the couplings are in trouble, we singulars have problems of our own. Would I be thrilled to tell people I’m planning to hang out in my room alone watching the latest in Blacklist and sleep for hours afterward? Of course, the thought of lounging in my pyjamas all day thrills me beyond words, but to the ones looking so eager and curious to know my weekend plans, I’m just sad and alone. I don’t bother myself with what they think, until they wear that sad expression one uses in the deathbed of an old granny.

Why should anyone have plans for the weekend at all? Why not go home on Friday evening, kick back, relax, and wait for the morning to tell you what to do that day? I’d rather do that than have my entire weekends planned, mapped out, and scheduled. Because, when I do plan to cook up a terrific single-serve meal, I’d just land in a power failure.

So, that’s how my weekend went. What about yours?

What If -?

what if
What if I wake up tomorrow to find I’ve hit a block so hard that there’s no coming back? What if, I can’t write anymore?

It’s a hypothetical question, but a wake up call as well. Because I don’t have a contingency plan. I don’t know what I’d do if I don’t write. I’m lucky my job involves writing and my hobby is writing. But if I can’t do the one thing I can do, what would I do then?

I would try singing. But I make people bleed from their ears.

Maybe I’d just go back to studying. I like studying, I like poring over books and reading between lines. I like reading great writers, and I’d revel in words, delve deep into the mystical world of literary puns and illiterate goons.

I’d wake up each morning, breathe in words — from Shakespeare and Milton to Doyle and Christie. I’d bury myself in fresh prints and vintage tints, reading in bed, every day — on Valentine’s too.

And while turning the pages, I’d whistle my favourite tunes — and no one can tell me it’s not a girl-thing to do .  I’d sing when I feel like it, I’d read aloud, I’d narrate, I’d play the part of the main character and test my vocals; “Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

I’d read book after book, I’d turn page after page, I’d inhale in morsels, the ink on those books, and get drunk in the pleasure of alliteration and word manipulation.

And then I’d realise romance isn’t my forte, and I’d pick something closer to my heart; because I know, “something wicked this way comes.”

And once I step over my Rubicon, there’s no return. And I’d be for eternity under the influence of the greatest drugs known to mankind; “words, words, words.”

What becomes of the broken-hearted

broken heartedWe’ve all faced it before, but still forget how easy it is to break your heart again and again.

I’ve had so many heartbreaks.

When I was five passing through the fancy store, longing to make that expensive cloth doll my own.

When I walked into school for the first time, and my neighbour had longer, darker hair than mine.

When my class teacher punctured my ego, knocking points off for my hasty handwriting.

When my mother denied me a fifth slice of cake.

When my father wouldn’t sign my report card because of a few failures, and I had to face detention in school.

When I opened my laptop for the first time in a new job and it didn’t boot.

When I realized my colleagues have moved on and I was still getting coffee.

When I stole my brother’s wallet only to find bills in there.

When I had to endure the funeral of my favourite teacher.

They all flash before my eyes when I play this song in my headset.

“What becomes of the broken-hearted… who had love that’s now departed?”

And I realize: We’ll be fine.

What happens when you listen too much

They say you need to listen. Listening is an important social skill, not to mention a life skill. I declared myself, in no less that 700 words (still don’t know how I managed that!), that I believe in listening.

But I also believe there’s something as too much listening. And unlike believing a magical man lives in the sky, this belief comes from some hard-earned experience I would’ve been happy without.

Because as important as it is to listen, it is also important to be heard — or in the simpler active voice — to speak.

That’s where I missed out. And it costs me. Every. Single. Time.

Imagine someone, who’s a great listener, who’s surrounded by sad people who don’t have anyone to talk to. Sure, these people have friends and are active on social media, but they have no one to talk about their deep feelings, their sadness, their worries, and simple joys.

What happens when you’re the listener in a world like that? You become likeable of course — which isn’t much of a surprise, considering you are the only person available for the others.

It feels great, uplifting even, to be the one person everyone turns to in times of need or worry. But — it’s just too easy to tip the boat.

And I’ve been there.

And I know: When you listen too much — people take advantage of you. You become the punchbag for others to vent out their feelings, and you end up depressed and sad.

And sometimes, all that listening makes me seem a loner, sadist, or pathetic, needy lunatic. But I don’t care. As long as I don’t bore others with my stories.