Crux

Self realisation can be an awful thing. I stood in front of the mirror one day and took a good, long look at myself. I realised there and then that though I’ve tried every conceivable hairstyle known to Esquire magazine, the problem actually lies on my f*ckin thick, triple-chinned neck, and portly belly.

Am I merely shifting blame to another sad excuse to why I’m not as good looking as Colin Farell? Maybe, but call it what you want, it’s one of those self realisation moments that hits you and hits you hard, and forces you to accept it one way or another.

To my wife’s annoyance, this has led me to one of my man-pondering moments this whole week. There was much more to discover. I felt like putting on a single white glove and shrieking out Man In The Mirror fiercely in front of her dressing table just to keep me in the zone.

Looking through the looking glass, a world of paralleled yet opposed dimensions started opening up to my consciousness. I viciously jotted everything that popped into my head, like when Sam Witwicky started getting bizarre visions from the Allspark that was trying to communicate with him, projecting bizzare symbols only know to the Ancients of Cybertron. Or more like a blind man trying to fill out a deposit slip at Maybank.

Did I save on that 20% discount, or did I lose by spending that 80% unnecessarily?

Did all the pants makers in this world sneakily manufactured size 34 and labelled them 36?

Have all my clients banded together and adjusted their clocks 15 minutes faster?

Did they purposely make all karaoke minus one versions 2 keys higher than my kontrol macho voice?

Did the earth’s rotation slow down to stretch every second by 15 times whenever I’m in bed, leading to my mere 33% achievement rate according to a global survey?

Did I really do what I did or did the whole club hallucinate me taking off my clothes on the table at Chinois?

I took a good long look at my list. And it wasn’t a pretty sight. Summing up the answers to those questions led me to the self realisation that I was gullible, fat, always late, a bad singer, bad in bed and a lightweight at the bar.

Have I always thought that I was pleasingly analytical, with an OK bod, more or less punctual, with the voice of an angel, the stamina of Ron Jeremy and the drinking capacity of 6 vikings?

Apparently I have, and perhaps, just like all of us do, never really looked at the real crux of why our girlfriends, wives, bosses, clients, strangers at the bar - nag, bitch, complain, gossip about us whether we like it or not.

So here’s to you, MJ, cause from now on, I’m gonna turn up the collar on my favourite winter coat, and let the wind blow my mind. Cause no message, could’ve been any clearer, if I wanna make the world a better place, I’ll take a look at myself and make that change.

Shamone!