Know Your Neen
Hi, my name is Jeanine. This is a blog of
stuff I think, stuff I like, and stuff I think I like.
Remember Hungarian? Apparently he leaves the country on Thursday. Still don’t know his name. My coworker told me what he thinks is Hungarian’s English name. But the Hungarian name, idk.
We’ll just stick with “Hungarian”. I’m fine with that.
There’s a middle-aged lady in our class who always has to give in her two cents about “controversial” facts.
For example, we learned a while back that while narcissists show high levels of confidence and self-esteem, the Implicit Association Test, which (more-or-less) reveals subconscious/automatic thoughts, states the complete opposite. We talked more about the discrepancies between the conscious and unconscious, followed by lady’s concerns that our prof has just told us that we all have personality disorders that we don’t know about and blahblahblah…
Today we talked about testosterone and it’s relationship with aggression. Testosterone levels are obviously high in aggressive people and in aggressive situations, and our testosterone levels also increase when merely watching competitive events (like sports). Reasonable. Lady gives her two cents about how she’s concerned that she’ll become aggressive when watching a hockey game and BLAHBLAHBLAH.
Here’s the thing: Next week we’re going to talk about the psychoanalytic perspective of personality. This revolves around Freud’s ACTUAL controversial ideas of psychosexual stages and sexual conflicts. I find this topic very interesting and I’m really looking forward to it, but if Lady’s going to express her concerns that her son lusts for her and is trying to kill her husband and BLAHBLAHBLAH. No. NO. NO. NO!
Daily Duck Face Neen
This is how much hair grows in a year. Going for a haircut today. Wee!
Waiting on the LRT platform. I’m not listening to anything. I didn’t bring my iPod; I’m just zoning out while facing the tracks. A man in his fifties passes by and as he passes by he is looking at my chest. I immediately become uncomfortable. He stops. Turns. He’s standing beside me, facing me. Another guy near me sees this and walks away. I’m still facing the tracks.
“What are you?” He asks in an accent.
I know he’s asking my ethnicity. But I’m already uncomfortable so I continue to stare at the tracks. However, the train will still be a while and there’s nowhere to go.
“Are you a mutt?”
After a pause, “I’m Filipino.”
“Ah, Filipino? “
“Yes.”
“You don’t look full Filipino. Are you full?”
While this man talks to me I make sure that I don’t smile and I avoid eye contact as much as possible, but not look away so as to show fear. I continue the conversation because I feel like it’s rude otherwise.
“My mom has Chinese blood.”
I’m making sure that I give a little pause before I answer.
“So your mom is Chinese and your dad is Filipino?”
That’s not right, but I confirm anyway.
“Were you born in the Philippines?”
“No.”
“So you’ve never been there before?”
Pause. ”I have.”
“Ahh. …Are you in high school?”
*No reply*
“Or have you graduated?”
“I’m in university.”
“Oh, so you’ve gradu-“
“Yes, I’ve graduated.”
“Are you going to become a doctor?”
I let out a small chuckle. ”No.”
“Then what?”
I don’t want to talk to him anymore. Not like I ever did. So I leave a very long pause.
“I’m just a student.”
Another pause. Then he says, “I’m going to leave you alone now. You seem very serious.”
I look back at him. ”Thank you.”
He walks away, and I turn my head to face the tracks again. Other people on the platform saw this interaction and they probably think I’m a bitch. That or a total badass. Let’s assume the latter. The train comes and I board. I look to make sure he’s not near me. He’s not. I breathe a sigh of relief.
I had some time to kill while I was downtown before catching my bus. I saw that something was going on in Churchill Square so I decided to check it out. Apparently the aboriginal community was holding an event to honour children in care. I didn’t know at the time; there weren’t any signs or anything and I’m not one to approach people and ask. So I just sat somewhere in the crowd and observed. I thought a lot.
I could go on a rant about the injustices of the world but that would just exhaust me, and I don’t even know how many people read these posts. So if you’re reading this, you win a cookie. Just kidding, you don’t. But thanks.
Here’s the point I wanted to slowly get myself to: Racist comments about aboriginals bother me. Even if it is a joke. I don’t find it funny. I’m guilty of making jokes myself, and then I’m left feeling terrible.
Answer:
Sherwin is in Germany and he’s telling me stories. I’m listening very carefully.
