Monday, January 25, 2010

Uhm... Sure, you can hide your face in a box – but not when it’s made out of clear plastic. HI DAD – I KNOW YOU’RE READING THIS JUST AS I KNOW ABOUT THAT 25 YEAR OLD CHICK ‘THROWING A PILLOW AT YOU’ ON FACEBOOK!

Dear Blog Readers,

So I just found out that one of you told my Dad about my blog. Nice one! For now, I will refrain from hurling an expletive towards you because it’s not nice to swear in front of Dad. [ HI DAD!]. You’re probably not some random blog reader. You are probably well acquainted with my dad and I long before I took to the blogosphere. And chances are, I probably already thought you were a [censored expletive] [HI DAD!], for various other reasons. But you can say, what’s the problem? It’s a PUBLIC BLOG! It’s not like you gave him my personal diary [HI DAD!]. If other people, random strangers are allowed to read it, why not my own father?


Yes. Okay. I get that. But hold on and let me continue. I do not use my last name, which is of course, my Dad’s name on my blogs. I don’t do jack squat to publicise my blog, and I don’t intend to. I don’t list my blog address on my Facebook or in the signature line of my e-mails. So the chances of my blog being found by my dad on his own, is really miniscule unless he searched for, I don’t know, “DEAN FROM SUPERNATURAL, HOT BUNS” [Hi Dad!]

The reason why this blog is public is because, there is comfort to be found in sharing your thoughts with strangers, who are not in the position to judge you or make your life all that difficult. That’s why plenty of people talk to therapists. Alas, I’m too cheap to pay for a therapist. Hence, the free blog [thanks, Blogger!]. But anyway, you’ve just cost me that freedom.

You know, I also have phone conversations with my friends in plain, audible English (or Malay) instead of fancy secret code written in invisible ink. That doesn’t mean I would welcome it if my parents picked up the other line and listen in [HI DAD!]. Look, it’s not that I have much to hide these days [HI DAD! I REALLY DON’T] - in fact 75% of all my thoughts are very clearly and loudly aired out to them over dinner. 75% is ALOT. No parent needs to know EVERYTHING that goes on in their child’s head. If they did, human beings would stop procreating. Seriously. And we would be less able to grow as our own person. And also, does my DAD really need to hear me wax poetic about the butt of [insert name of hot, unattainable male celebrity] l and how I would like to spank it twice and have him scream my name [uh...HI DAD!]? And I’ve been known to say that stuff on my blog. Now, do YOU really need to have my Dad reading about it? Hey, say, once a long, long time ago, hypothetically– I found a photocopied issue of some dirty magazine just lying in your room, which also happens to be the common computer room (photocopied, really? Couldn’t even get yourself a real one?). Did I run straight to YOUR DAD? No. It’s natural to be curious about these things as you grow up, just as it’s natural for me, to form my own political opinion on current issues as I get older - no need to press the panic button for the folks.

And that is exactly what YOU did. You know, it’s not so much the fact that you send a plain link to my Dad. This makes things uncomfortable but then heck, I’ve learnt to deal with the fact that my dad is on Facebook and that my mom will occasionally go into my room, whether I like it or not. No, the fact that my Dad knows about my blog is not what angers me. It’s the fact that YOU took my words, twisted it, sensationalised it, before actually presenting it to my parents. My mom doesn’t know how to use the computer so I doubt she actually read my blog entry. And my dad has admitted it himself that as far as his reading habits are concerned, he prefers to “skim” through books and articles just to get the “gist” of it – this works if an opinion is presented in point form, less so if it’s in my rambling, round-a-bout style. But as far as reading comprehension goes, YOU are probably the worst. And you know what angers me even more? Is that you do not have the courtesy to identify yourself and properly discuss it with ME – regarding my opinion the Allah issue or otherwise – before running off to report to DADDY about it in a way that only a tabloid like KOSMO could be proud of. It’s not religion or God that I’m questioning – read my blog post properly as well as the comments that followed (I added practically a 2nd blog entry in the comments section)– it’s people, politicians, bombers, and people who would probably fail reading comprehension tests. You’ve probably been reading my blog for a while now and I doubt you’ve ever commented as yourself even once. Or, if commenting on the internet is not your style, CALL ME UP or SPEAK TO ME FACE TO FACE and we can clarify what needs to be clarified before you cause unnecessary tension between my parents and I. If you know who I am and who my dad is then chances are you have my number and you know where I live. So go on, tell me what your problem is. Are you concerned about my spiritual well-being? But not concerned enough to want to talk to ME about it? That’s probably because we don’t have a real relationship, isn’t it, despite the fact that you know my personal details, despite the fact that we’ve probably known eachother for a very long time, despite the possibility that we’re probably related? You know, my sisters read this blog too and whenever I write something that they feel they disagree with, they have the courtesy to talk to me about it, as themselves, first. That’s because we have a real relationship and they have enough respect for me as a human being that is by international standards, a legal adult. And I respect them as such too. You however, have been lurking on my blog like a creep. Stop playing whatever game it is you think you’re playing. And whatever virtuous, fair or righteous reason you’ve come up with in that head of yours, I have this to say: GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Yes, dad, you heard me right, I just told this person, whoever he is to GO FUCK HIMSELF. And I’m not sorry. So you, PERSON, run along now and complain to my mom and dad about it. Whatever you have to say for yourself from this point onwards – I don’t want to hear it; too late; don’t give a shit and you can go fuck yourself with it.

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