Right problem, wrong solution

I was talking to a friend today. He knows that I’m a chronic worrier, and he said something very interesting:

“If you must fulfill your daily worrying quota, worry about something important.”

I had been whining because a friend had unfollowed me on Twitter.

I hang out a lot on Twitter, and I follow and unfollow at … well … I woudn’t say at random exactly. I follow people who sound interesting. I unfolow people hu typ txt msgs tht luk lk this. I follow people that make me laugh. I unfollow people who spend way too long on Chuki FM. I follow people who say stuff that makes me think. I unfollow everyone on #SwaWed […because reading in slow motion is way too much work]. I follow people with interesting user names. I unfollow people who start to annoy me, though mostly it’s just plain old PMS. So you see, my follow/unfollow pattern makes a lot of sense – to me – but it’s mostly pretty random.

I follow a lot of strangers and unfollow a lot of friends. It’s not because I love them any less. It’s because they refuse to properly use RTs. It may be because they’re much more fun in person, or because they shot off ten tweets in a minute. Yes, I know I do that too, but I rarely see myself on my timeline so yeah. *sheepish grin*

Anyway, given my hair trigger follow-unfollows, I really shouldn’t care who does the same for me, right? Except last week, there was a silent même in blogworld. Everyone was doing lists of why they did or didn’t unfollow so-and-so. I noticed I am guilty of all those offenses, and noticed some unfollowed me – twice. Ouch! Hence the whiny conversation.

manga-girl (1)

After setting my head straight, my pal says he knows that I worry, and it seems I enjoy it. Well no, I don’t. I’ve been trying to stop actually, and it’s proving quite hard. So he gave me an antidote.

“In college, girls freak out in the summer when they can’t fit into their swimsuits. They go on crash diets to fit back into them, when the simplest thing to do is buy a big bikini!

For about five seconds, I was tempted to argue against that statement. We’re girls. Buying a bigger swimsuit is … well … stupid. But I knew I wouldn’t win, so I let him go on.

“If you can’t stop worrying, just worry about something else.”

He’s right of course. I have a million things to worry about. Like meeting work deadlines, or getting bills paid on time, or washing my months-dirty jeans, or cleaning the vacuum machine, or pleasing my weevil-shaped spirit creature. The trick is to pick what’s important. The way I’m  wired, as soon as I solve one thing, I worry about something else. So I need to write up my To-worry list, then cross out the stuff that’s too silly. I just love crossing things off to-do lists, so this could be fun …

What do you want from meAdam Lambert

I want to be a videogame vixen

Mr 3CB likes videogames, so I know a lot more about tea-bagging and respawn spots than I should. The seeds were laid long ago, and as a kid, I played family games and Super Mario. I mostly liked Sega and 42-in-1. It was a cartridge that had Ramio, Joust, Gyro, Galaxion, and Mappy. My favourite one was Mappy, coz it sounded so cool when you died. I also loved Tetris, though I could never get past Level III, so I gave it up for Brick Game.

I did  bit of Donkey Kong and Zelda, but by then, the kids had become serious gamers, so I was content to sit and watch the screen while they played. I was more interested in the story, so I’d cheer them to finish a level so I could see the videos. They dared me to play Final Fantasy once, but they took away the joysticks, because instead of using strategic moves to score points, I picked spells that caused pretty colours and fireworks, used up energy bars, but did zero damage. I didn’t think to try Mortal Kombat, Street Fighter, or Tekken, though I’m pretty sure the most amazing move was down-up-kick..

Knowing my love for good stories, Mr 3CB got me a video of the Metal Gear Solid storyline. There are four separate games, totalling to over ten hours of viewing. I haven’t had such fun in ages. I don’t know if I’d actually play the games – I’m pretty squeamish over guns. But those video girls are hot. Tell me you wouldn’t channel Laughing Octopus.

My favourite is MGS 3. The plotline is deep and powerful, and the sheroes are pretty strong characters. You have Eva, the super sexy triple agent who can be strong and frail at will. She pretends to be a secretary nerd so she can spy on the KGB, while posing as a defecting American who really works for China. Then there’s The Boss, the most badass woman in … in anywhere really. She gives up everything for her country – her love, her child, her skills, and eventually, her life. She’s a mighty soldier, nicknamed the Mother of US Special Forces, and she’s in charge of the Cobra Squad – not to be mistaken with Alfie’s gang.

The CIA fakes a plot that has her defecting to Russia, then gets her own apprentice to kill her as part of a deal with Russia. She dies a traitor, simply following orders, and her name is ruined in history, just as the CIA planned. The story made me cry. It was as beautiful as it was sad, and I’m surprised it took a videogame to help me get the Cold War. Who’d’a thunk?

I’m sure there was a point to this post, but I forgot what it was. Oh well. It will come to me. I’m still trying to figure out the twists in the tale, like why Naomi looked so nervous and mousy all the time, how a geek chick could be so hot, what her true motives were, and where Ocelot learned to gesture like a rugby referee. In the meantime, the hot, the wild, the crazy, Ms Raging Raven. Pure awesomness – and this one is a bad guy! I so want to be in a videogame!

Old at last. Yay!!

I always claim that I skipped my teenage, and that the pierced nose and purple hair is kharma’s belated birthday gift. People who knew me as a kid say I didn’t know how to be one. My high school pal said I was hatched as an adult. But after watching Ink yesterday, wailing until my eyes hurt, and sedating myself to sleep, I made a few key discoveries.

Let me back up a bit. I’ve been on a depression spiel and written about it pretty much everywhere. This morning, I woke up to this post, and was somewhat surprised, because Loco always seems like such a cheery sort. I didn’t think she was anything like me. But depression is a disease, and with faith, we’ll get better. I read iCon’s response, and was quite touched. I always knew that boy was deep, but dang! Sometimes the net shows you sides of people that real life never could.

So back to Ink. I’d never have watched this movie on my own. I’d have stopped the second the dreams appeared. They looked terribly creepy, and the music was wrong. And those were the good dreams! When the bad guys I appeared, I hid under a chair, and by the time Ink showed up, I was looking for the light switch despite daylight. For some strange reason, I was also thinking of that show, The Ink Thief.

I’m not very good at kiddie games, especially Barbie world and kalongo. I’m not bad at By-show and Ina-mina-apsa-mina, but when Princess wants to play dress up, I’m likely to say, ‘I’m not very good at that sweetie. So the scene at the railway haunted me. I’d have turned it off at that point if Mr 3CB hadn’t stopped me.

By the end of the movie, I was crying, though I still wasn’t sure I liked it, and after sleep and analysis, I’ve decided it’s a must see for everyone. The camera work is great too, and the Angel lady has such awesome hair. If I was white, I’d wear my hair like that. Or like Roxette. Or like Olga, Sunny, and Octopus in MGS.

I realize that not being good at kiddie games is a learned response. When I was little, the kids didn’t want to play with me, so I pretended I’m too old to play. I did it so long that I started to like it, and as an adult, I still find most children’s games … well … childish.

It’s like in Class 4, when everyone was reading Sweet Valley High, I could never get a copy because I wasn’t one of the popular kids. So instead of sulking that no one would lend me theirs, I started reading Lamb Tales Shakespeare and Sidney Sheldon, because there was no waiting list for those. I ended up looking precocious, when I was really just taking what I could get. I read all 8 Sheldons, but lost interest after Stars Shine Down. It wasn’t very good.

Dr Phil says we pick up habits for one reason, then keep them for another. I picked ‘mature’ books to hide my lack of social clout. I kept reading them to look grown up. I hung out with adults to hide my hurt pride, and when the grown ups moved away, I stopped hanging out period. I don’t feel lonely or reclusive, and I rarely long for company. I’m not missing out on anything. I’ve built up habits that work for me, and I’m quite okay with this. Although I know I’m a fun person, I don’t feel drawn to spread it beyond my blog.

The reason Ink made me cry is that it opened up a lot. It reinforced my thoughts that nothing is random. It made sure I’ll never attempt suicide again. And most off all, it taught me to never give up.

Ink became what he became because he stopped fighting. He lost himself, and he didn’t even know it. I’ll always remember the scene enar the end where the Goth girl is standing in the room, facing a million incubi [?], knowing she’s bound to lose but refusing to back down. And just as they bad guys close in on her, the beacon goes off and tha cavalry arrives. I’ll always think of the Blind Pathfinder, and how he counts the beats in life  … 1 … 2 … 3 … 4. You could give up only to realise you were on Beat 3, and if you’d held on just a little bit longer, salvation would have come.

So which part of this says I’m old? Well, I allowed myself two gifts today. One, I looked at a person’s work, decided I don’t  like it, and accepted that I was cool with that. I won’t lie – I wasted half an hour wondering what was wrong with me, since this is the most gifted person ever, and everyone adores him. But finally, I looked, smiled, said, ‘No thanks, not really my thing,’ and walked away. Voilà! maturity!!

My second gift was admitting that I’m fun. Self loathing is so last season. There’s nothing wrong with loving yourself – take that any way you will. But like Pati, doing one bad thing doesn’t stop you being a nice person, and being a hermit doesn’t make you hard to hang out with. It just means you get around less, and you revel in the few friends you have.

As a bonus for today, I say one thing. I walk away from others, so they walk away from me, and that’s okay too. In the same way I don’t like some people, some people don’t like me. And for the first time in ages … actually…  for the first time ever … I’m perfectly okay with that, and it feels pretty damn good.