Tariq Kamal's blog.

One reason why I may never have a comment box in my blog is because…

…I don't need to listen to anyone's damn opinion about what I say in it.

You know, I don't need that. I drive myself insane, sometimes, thinking about how people will respond to something controversial I say, or something.

Yes, there's that temptation to jump in, set things back straight, make sure I'm not being misunderstood, answer back at any ‘false’ accusations.

Except that those accusations have a ring of truth in them, and I'm too stubborn to admit anything of the sort. Of course I'm seething. It's because the events of the past month have been pretty unpleasant for me and how I feel. Of course I have a right to speak — as much as other people have the right to react to what I say.

It took strong emotions to actually get me to start blogging again. Why do I need to put up a comment box? So that I can get people who comment on it, practically asking me to defend any rash thing I said?

Hell, I'm doing it now. There's a reason I have a blog, you know. It's because it's basically a place where I can shout, scream, rant and kick the door down.

See that disclaimer? It says that I have the right to let dead horses lie un-flogged. I rant, I seethe for a couple of hours, and within a week I forget about it.

Anyone who wants to base their opinion of me via my blogging is welcome to. Just don't hope that I'll ever care of what your opinion is.

Sigh. I hate this. It sounds… self-righteous. I'm being defensive without even trying to.

I'm leaving this. So I'm a hyper-sensitive jerk. Fine. If you don't like it, don't torture yourself.

No, that's not it…

Addendum(2:13 AM): I'm leaving this up. It was hard trying to think things through when you're defensive and angry, but this entry and the first entry may have been a mistake, in retrospect. Yeah, I'm angry with myself. I've always hated a loose tongue. But I gotta live with its consequences, no?

Entry link: #No-Comment


Hmm.

A really badly done picture of hell.

Your soul came from the Bowels of HELL! You're a demon preying on the mortals of Earth. BACK TO HELL WITH YOU!

Where Did Your Soul Originate?” brought to you by Quizilla

Well, that explains a lot of things.

Entry link: #Soul-Questions


Well. That was quick.

Mabs had a look at the entry below, went ‘ack!’ and began to apologize for making fun of me.

Silly woman. I apologize for blowing up like that. It never ends well when I do.

So people aren't complete wastes of flesh after all. Well, almost.

Entry link: #Quick-apology


An inauspicious start.

I haven't been this angry for years.

Not angry magnitude, anger-type. Not quantity, quality. And it's all because of this.

I used to remember the days when I wrote English essays for a succession of English teachers, who all (apparently) adored my skill in prose (The notable exception being Miss Nathan, but she was sensible, and only praised my work when it didn't suck). Mrs. Lim, an old curmudgeon of a woman (be flattered, ma'am) used to say that I had the biggest chip on my shoulder.

What she didn't ask about was what the chip on my shoulder was.

I went through school feeling ugly, stupid, or worthless. I was weird enough to warrant ostracism even in primary school and kindergarten, and with a name like Tariq Ali people could tease me for hours. I mean, normal people have names like Ahmad or Farhan or Abu or Justin or Victor or, at a stretch, Mugunthan. No one sane or normal had a name like Tariq, and screw what the ustads said.

Bitter, kan? And then I meet someone who actually finds me not only wonderful and pleasant, but also sexy and beautiful.

Needless to say, I had a hard time believing her.

I'm told that people like her find me attractive, and there's probably a small subculture of silent, frightened-to-speak women out there who lust after me in the quiet of their own damn bedrooms. Oooh, look at me.

See, if that's true, then why do people keep insisting, after every time Hani gushes about me, that she's biased? Are you implying that there's something wrong with her? That only people like her (who are too horny, or too ‘oversexed’) are the only people who will ever find me attractive? That I'm, what, the Fount of the Desperate?

You're probably wondering why I won't chill out. You see, there are two possible outcomes to this:

  1. That I'm a bitter old sod who is surrounded by people who are too blind or stupid to even know what true beauty looks like when it walks past them, thinking horrible evil thoughts about the sheep-like populace of planet Earth.
  2. That I am not only a bitter old sod, but an ugly and undesireable bitter old sod, attractive to only that kind of woman.

Both alternatives piss the fuck off of me. The first one angers me because I'm basically sharing the planet with wastes of flesh who should be flame-throwered. The second pisses me off because those wastes of flesh are right, and it's the nature of the universe itself to be unfair, and hence deserving it's own version of defenestration.

Entry link: #Bad-start


Previous archived entries

Who is this guy?

Tariq Kamal was born on November 1981, on a day in which he wishes was a day of infamy, but unfortunately it wasn't, much to his frustration. He's a Malaysian, and is at the same time proud and ashamed of that fact. He's a comics and computer geek, who sometimes can't be arsed to catch up with his stuff. He's also occasionally misanthropic, and looks at Tarot Card 20 with a mixture of hope and frustration. He's also very impulsive — hence this weblog, which he will probably neglect like his last one.

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Disclaimer: I didn't ask you to come here. You came here on your own free will. I refuse to be coerced to defend my points of view or even take responsibility of what appears here. Comment on it if you must, but do not expect changes to happen just because you say so.