This next entry is going to be a little confronting and auspiciously truthful (some of you may think a lot less of me..) So here goes:
We all pigeon hole people into categories (no matter how much we choose to deny it).
I do believe I am one of the worst offenders! Someone speak to me in an accent: English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh and on occasions, French, South African, Italian; I immediately think rather highly of them. That is probably an understatement, I want to know them, I think they are amazing!
Yes yes I know, it is a horrible habit and my prejudices are worse than that of Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett combined. My preference for the English is shamefully obvious and so help me I truly think I have a super power. Just on one look 8/10 times I can tell you if a man is from the UK. I mean just on appearance. I haven’t heard him speak I haven’t even seen his mannerisms, I just know. I recently watched Good Will Hunting and it was the perfect analogy. Just like Beethoven and Mozart could look at a piano and just play is how I look at the English and just know. I know, you think I’m crazy (which I ask myself on a daily basis) but hear me out.
Some people are more observant than others, I like to think I’m a fairly observant person when it comes to noticing appearances (I know, I’m rather shallow). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is we all have similar features nation wise. Australians – well we have pretty leathery skin, we tend to have sun spots and we often walk with either a lazy or cocky gate. The Americans – well I’ll state the obvious they are fat and a young American girl just look s so American! – you all know what I mean, they walk with sky high confidence, look older than their years and have the whitest of teeth and broadest of smiles. The average American tends to wear ill fitted clothes and outdated tracksuits. The French tend to have thin lips, small frames and effortless minimalist style. And those from the UK – fair skinned, dress conservative but well, have distinct mouths and yes the stereotype seems to be true – they tend to have bad teeth (A weakness that often vexes me). So purely based on appearance picking the European from the American, the Italian from the Greek, the Chinese from the Korean is really rather easy. You can notice these similarities after you have travelled. Jumping from country to country you begin to find the likely features of a local. Just stop and watch and you will see the likely suspects.
Back to the disgusting truth of my preference towards the English accent. I notice it everywhere I go, in every action I take, in every decision I make. I work as a receptionist at a medical centre. Someone calls for an appointment, we are kind of full but then I hear his accent and I kindly book him in… An ugly looking man walks through the doors – I label him ugly and then he speaks and suddenly he is just normal looking. I book a meeting time for someone over the phone after sitting at my desk bored out of hell and suddenly his accent across the line perks me up and just like that my day has been made. My top 10 actors are almost all from the UK (I could write sonnets, poems, songs, heck even essays on Bear Grylls). No seriously, that is how bad it is, that is how sordid my mind is. The brain is a mysterious organ and mine must have been wired by one dumb little naïve girl.
I pigeon hole almost everyone I see and I know how bad it is but I simply find it entertaining, I find it amusing, I find it relatively healthy. I would never force it on them and when it came to tough life decisions off course I would never, ever let my prejudices override what is right. (As an Asian, I have no patience for racism and I utterly, outrageously detest it – now that is a topic I could seriously write some fiery essays on!)
Recently though I have come to except my slight insanity and I am learning to embrace by obsessions and unceremonious passions (no matter how trivial). It is part of who I am, it is a part of my story, it contributes to my life, it is what helps drive the mind and soul. What is life without a little fanciful fantasy? Without a little daring opinion or passionate thinking? I don’t exactly think it would be a life well lived. On the whole I am actually really grounded (although some would think I’m cheating myself), I am very much all about the reality despite my rants and delusions of grandeur – I do know the difference between reality and dreams (but that can wait for another entry).
Reading back on this, maybe this didn’t belong out there in the cyber world, maybe I should have kept this to the humble pages of a private journal. But then I guess what is the point in writing something if no one else is going to enjoy it, judge it, laugh at it and disapprove of it? Keeping something private is just for self indulgence really, sharing it with the public; then it is self improvement.