You know, I always thought of myself, being an amateur writer and all, I could read people's emotions.

I thought I could tell from the tone of most conversations, or even the body language of who I am speaking to, whether he/she is pleased or just irritated or bored.

Perceiving emotion is a gift that, I'd daresay, is only available to the ones who participate in the science of creation - artists, writers, musicians, singers.. the list just do go on. These people, their brains are wired in such a way by the language they write, the music they compose, or the pictures they paint, that they could grasp the source of creativity - the human emotion.

I might be blustering a whole lot of hot air here but bear with me, would you? Although I am an amateur, I could at some degree, look at people's conversations be it in phone or paper and tell how they are feeling at that moment.
And more often than not, I am quite right. I have steered away a great many sad and boring conversations that way. And saved a lot of faces.

But reading people, by singling out their characteristics at a first glance - is something I cannot do.

And I thought I did. And I slept with the wrong sort, while antagonizing the ones that I call friends.

Let's just say,  that I made enemies of a friend (or friends?) that were just speaking out their views. I detracted their opinions and countered a not so sharp riposte - and that provoked some sort a feral reaction of sorts.
And while the ones I should be staying away from, I responded in a sweetness that would even make Willy Wonka swoon. I apologized, I said nice things; I typically was in the same bed as my enemy.

Sure enough, I was being manipulated by the being I call my enemy then. And got insulted in a way that I never would've thought possible.
When that derogatory statement hit my ears, I realized what a fool I was. I ignored subsequent calls and messages from the offender, as I slowly reconsidered my past actions.

But yeah, I learned from that incident. I am no mind reader, nor I am a good people reader. But at least now I know which shoes I should trod on, or at least walk together with.


Sheesh.. what a confusing episode this all had been..


*2 blog posts in one day... damn I am good.*
**2 posts huh? What about that little story project?**
*Darn!*

Unless I promote it vociferously - or in such an aggressive manner that would shame most telemarketers -, she would quite not. Or unless I just, you know, pop this post up like I did the other day in an innocuous conversation. She read it and gave one of the posts quite the glowing review.

As usual, I would just downplay it and think it is not up to standards. As always.
I spotted a few grammatical and spelling errors in there, and I saw the structural placing of most of my sentences were more than flawed - it was a disaster. Reading that post was like looking at my backyard; so many plants, so pretty plants, but they're all over the place and surrounded by weeds of different shapes and sizes.

Anyways,

My self-shooting literature review isn't something that I want to discuss here.

I just want to say that little gesture, the offer to read what I write, could make me happy. Really happy. Ten bottles of different liquors from different countries with petai sambal while in a BMW happy. I was ecstatic.

But I always have been happy whenever she even remotely, talked to me. Or just  spoke, briefly.

Ah world,
If only she realize how happy she makes me feel no matter when or where she messages me. Yes I admit, I still have more than just feelings for her. Always has been for these 12 years.
Like today, when I saw the messages, although short, was enough to send me on a mad jumping dance around the house. Or that message earlier! Although short, again, fireworks were doing the "Carnivale" in response to that.


Yeah I am abit exaggerating but honestly you guys.
I missed that feeling of being excessively happy from hearing from her at all.

Pathetic huh?


Oh well. Hardly she ever traverses this part of the internet - at least she won't read this. This whole thing is a  sad mess, a sombre attempt to engulf my emotions in words.

Criticism and opinions are like the buttocks, the gluteus maximus, our profound rear in which we sit on. We all have it.

All of us have an opinion about something, be it the car you're sitting in, the man you're talking to, or even the very air that you breathe. And more often than not, being average humans, we criticize almost everything that we see and hear or taste today in our lives.
Come now, don't lie to yourself. I am sure you have commented something about the food you had for lunch today, or even the waiter that served you being too rigid or leering, or even maybe the surroundings of where you place your sweet rear on; hot, smelly, humid - common traits of the Malaysian monotonous weather.

But opinions, you may have realized, are something that is offered quite freely and without restrain, to the nearest person next to you. Opinions are often the starter of most conversations, and for some, a joke - something to be taken lightly, a pinch of salt. And opinions are quite ever changing - no one means exactly what they say, and it means almost nothing to anyone at all.

But criticism, however, is an evolved form of opinions. Criticism, unlike opinions, it is meant to spur the change of someone and something, in regards of what is being criticized. And things of art, like literature, paintings, songs, are the ones that is often brought to the critics' kangaroo court for their appraisal and judgement. No holds barred, without bias, that's how should criticism be.
I have read lately, a newspaper article written by a critic reviewing a book. The entire gist of his article was mainly about caring about others' feelings while doing the review, and what about the sympathetic quality so common in Malaysians' affecting the quality of literature and art and movie produced. An example was where he said that he was given a bad book to review by a friend - he offered no help and asked him to take it somewhere else. The critic was afraid, that he would hurt the budding writer's feelings if he said if it was really bad, and all that.

What I think that is - and in agreement with aforementioned critic - the critics of this country should lock up their emotions when it comes to reviewing anything at all. Have they not considered about the quality that has been coming out lately in the film cinemas, the overstocked abundance of Malay love novels, and the obvious lack of Malaysian English novelists? Why do the critics would want to feed hopes to a shitty novel, and in result, a less than average quality literature being stacked in the shelves of national bookstores.

I would argue with them about this and I would get a response that is all too similar: "Don't be so harsh la.. They are good, after a few reads, their work would grow on you! They have potential! We need this kind of up and coming writers", etc.

WRONG.

You tell a builder building a house made of sand that his work is good, and he will keep building houses with sand and one day kill himself with it.
Same goes for anyone. Why pull the Asian parenting treatment in this sector? Why aren't you harsh and intimidating to them? Why don't you go all Donald Trump on their proverbial asses, and tell them that their work is not worthy for even the dustbin, toilet material even?
Why the lot of you, encourage the growth of such material, and not stick it to them that they should write/produce/compose better movies, art, literature, etc?

We are a sentimental, emotional, sympathetic lot, that's why.

For me, I want my work to be subjected to criticism worthy of Spartan discipline and cruelty. I want to know how bad did I do. I want to know how horrible my grammar, my sentence structures, my story premises; the aspects of a novel or any writing work of mine.
I get a lot of honorable mentions of my articles; like, publisher quality material, made with the essence of a trained, experienced writer, weaving emotions like a skilled romantic novelist.. the list do go on. Yes, I am not exaggerating.

I just want the raw form of criticism, the unadulterated, watered down, sweetened excuse of an opinion that only serves me no good to improve my writing quality.


Now I know why most local movies are of even lesser quality than our Thai or Singaporean counterparts.