Just like that

When Vincent wrote this, in the subject line of his email:

for the sake of sanity and humanity, please contribute!

I couldn’t help but smile and find comfort in the fact that there are at least some in this world who will always value my two cents, and believe in me, no matter what.

I was in excruciating pain, nursing what I then knew as sciatica pain, but now know better as probably a side-effect of a not yet diagnosed dengue fever. I’m confident of it now after having spent seven days in a nursing home bed.

My family and friends were solidly behind me. I thank them for it. Yet, I am here like an ungrateful bastard complaining about lack of trust and empathy.

Since this is a restricted blog, and only a few of us get to read this, let me fill it up like a monologue. And this is precisely why I would like to thank Vincent for.

My blog is known to my family members, and of late, I have nothing positive to share with the world. Whatever I write would come up as a nag against my seemingly good life. It would end up hurting my closest family members, I mean, in addition to whatever they’re suffering already.

I have a four year old daughter, the only positive side of me getting married (some five years ago – yeah, we had a quick baby). I have been a lousy husband, a bad brother, bad son and of course, a terrible son-in-law. I still fancy that I am a good father, but that’s perhaps because my kid cannot complain yet. In a year or two I fully expect my kid to proclaim what a lousy father she has. I won’t blame her, I will accept what she has to say about me.

But it will be another loss of friend, or someone who I could call my own. That’s why, when Vincent asked me to write in this blog, I was thankful. He is still someone who believes in me, perhaps because he hasn’t actually seen me in person yet. We are friends for over a decade now, and yet we have never met.

This is also the problem of writing a blog post these days. I have frankly, nothing much to say.

Except that I have a feeble opinion about the latest #metoo movement.

I understand men are arseholes, but I also understand not everyone is so. I do know women have it very hard, but I also know that not everybody suffer as much as they project it to be. Some, of course, suffer horribly more.

But I see around me only empowered women, who never really needed to suffer it all alone, now crying foul and coming out in the open with their own #metoo stories. All women in developed world are empowered, though not in my country. And I can see that women who really have suffered don’t believe in sharing their #metoo stories. Someone told me she doesn’t believe in this #metoo movement. She has made amends with her tormentor, and she says it’s by adopting the strategy of the water.

What is the strategy? To erode and smoothen the stone so much over the years that it doesn’t dare to obstruct the flow. Rather, bow in front of the water.

But that takes years and a sure confidence that you can exact your revenge in your own soft ways.

I was a silent supporter of this #metoo movement too, and frankly, I had my own set of trepidation – fool that I was, that somebody would call me up and make an accusation. But then, as I read up the accounts, I realised all that I have ever done is proposition girls, writing them letters and agonising over the fairer sex; proving myself a fool by begging them to grant me some love. Strictly not physical love – that was an alien concept for us townsfolk. Of course, physical love would follow, but that was not why we used to propose someone.

The #metoo accounts of course, are mostly dirty physical stuff. Oh yes, I was saying that initially I supported the movement.

Then, I know another woman who complained along with #metoo and other hashtags. One of the complaints read that one of her bosses used to tell girls that if you couldn’t do a certain job as instructed, he would take the ‘panties off’.

Which was bad enough, had I not seen the woman grabbing the balls of a colleague of mine in jest, saying “nice and juicy, fatso.”

The man was half shocked and half pleased I presume. It all happened very suddenly. To me it was bad taste.

So now, if the woman tags old bosses, ruining their reputation and retired lives with such accusations, am I supposed to take this #metoo movement of privileged women seriously?

I want to, but can’t anymore.

And it reinforces my belief about six-seven years ago that I should not get married. I don’t understand women, and worse, I don’t want to.