blog/enigma

Saturday, November 24, 2007

7:42 PM

I think I've only seen 1 pervert my entire life.

Which is normal, I guess. To some extent.

WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING IT IS ONE OF THE CREEPIEST AND MOST DISGUSTING THINGS I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED.

I met him back when I still took 3rd Language. Found out that he was so famous (can't blame him for that, paedophiles are such a great conversation topic - omg he stalked you too?!) that he had a nickname - Bishan Gay.

Anyway the first time I met him was at Kentucky Fried Chicken (who would have guessed). I was eating unsuspectingly until I noticed him staring at me. Then I thought, no, don't get all paranoid. So I continued eating.

But he kept staring. And staring. And STARING.

It was seriously spooking me out. Like he had these old glasses and he was adjusting them and stuff and he had this DISGUSTING smile. But really what disturbed me the most was that he was stirring his coffee. Like there was no tomorrow.

There is something creepy about a middle-aged man stirring his coffee. I don't know who invented it, don't know who popularised it. All I know that it is pretty darn wrong. Like he couldn't wait to dunk me in his coffee and swirl me round and round in a whirlpool and gulp me down while slurping noisily.

YUCKYUCKYUCKYUCKYUCKYUCKYUCKYUCKYUCK.

I shall now recount my most memorable meeting (note: alliteration) with the Bishan Gay (there were too many), in hope of getting some closure.

I was on my happy way to attend happy 3rd Language class. I boarded the bus happily, as usual. I looked out of the happy bus window happily. Lush greenery and crisp (I hope I'm using the right word) architecture greeted me happily. It was a happy day.

WHAT.

THE.

HELL.

The bus had just stopped at a bus stop (this sentence sounds stupid for some reason). Right outside my bus window was the BISHAN GAY. Like omg yuckfuckyuckfuckyuck. It was so ridiculous I couldn't believe it. What were the chances? And it was unbelieveably disgusting. Bishan Gay was standing right outside the window. As in his face was 1 CENTIMETRE AWAY from the glass. And only I could see it. Only I knew of the horrors that lurked outside the bus. It was like I had signed up for 10 seconds of personal torture.

It was so horrible. And yet I was stuck. Stuck in that chair. Stuck in that bloody timeframe. I immediately turned my head forward, so that I wouldn't have to look at him FACE-TO-FACE.
I tried to look calm and composed. I had to. I couldn't let him have the satisfaction of knowing he got to me. But inside, inside I was screaming.

SCREW YOU BUS DRIVER DRIVE AWAY! AHHHHHHH!!!!!! MOVE! MOVE! AHHHHHH WHY WON'T THIS BUS MOVE? IS HE STILL LOOKING AT ME?!!! AAAAAHHHHHHHH BITCH YOU PERVERT GET AWAY FROM ME!!!!! MOVE! MOVE!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

And now I feel I must apologise for my eccentric behaviour. The childhood I've had is a truely tomented one.

****************************

However I am not someone who looks at things from a SINGLE perspective. After much contemplation and suicide attempts, I have came up with this conclusion.

Who am I to judge him? Did he ask to be born wth an unhealthy obsession with male adolescents? Should I reject him just because he is different from the norm? In fact, is he a pervert at all? From what I've heard he used to be a teacher at Raffles. I speculate that he might be an outstanding researcher, wanting to do his bit for society. Maybe this was all part of his social experiment (Tyra's not the only one you know.) In order to understand how modern society perceives paedophiles, he became one himself. So that he could personally experience what it was like to be a pervert. Thereby TRUELY getting into the psyche/conventions of modern society. (God this could be a HRP topic)

It doesn't matter if he is shunned or ostracised. Status is superficial. Because at the end of the day only he knows the truth behind everything. What society deems as acceptable or otherwise, what is inner beauty and real art and yadda yadda yadda. (And you thought he was your average paedophile. HA.)

And that's what counts.

Right?

RIGHT??!!!

-As quoted from Bo Dong's blog, http://judgement92.blogspot.com, 23/11/07

After reading this post I had my fair bit of musings.

Bishan Gay (does he has a name?) is one of the most coveted characters in this storybook of life I read often. He's this shadowy character that most students studying around Bukit Timah and Bishan would know about (i.e. HCI, NY, RI... this is a disturbing elitist trend). From impressions, he's a fat, average-looking (although many people would describe him as hideous) middle-aged (!!!) man who is rumored to be well, gay, and often ogles at boys. Teenage male adolescents.

In short, he's a sicko in general opinion.

My very first memory of him was at year 1 when I was reading a book on the bus and he was on the same bus as me (this might be less coincidental than you think. He's said to stalk handsome kids. Not like me, of course). Luckily, as much as I wish for the otherwise, I look rather average so I don't catch his attention that often. But anyway, at that time he kept staring at me so I looked up from my book at stare straight back at him.

"Boy, you shouldn't read books on the bus, it'll spoil your eyes," he seemed like he had an answer ready.

"Okay," I replied and put my book away. Just then, I thought he was just one of those kindly old men whom grandchildren I resemble. I like talking to old people actually. They're wise and compassionate and patient when they're not trying to kiss me (wait, I'll explain later.) I looked expectantly up at him, seeing if he's going to strike up a conversation, or telling me how I resemble his grandchildren. Of course, at hindsight, he might not even have any.

He just continued staring at me. I shrugged and looked away. I found it uncomfortable to sustain eye contact because it was as if he was admiring me as a painting or Ming Dynasty vase in a museum. And vases don't stare back.

But I didn't feel like being an exhibitionist. I wasn't confident of my looks (to me they were rather plain) and I certainly wasn't ready to model for that man to watch. Heck, I'm just on a bus trip to 3rd Lang. What's the deal with someone staring?

After that rather perturbing journey, I got right on track with life and forgotten cleanly about him. I did hear guffaws in conversations speaking of a pedophile, but it never interested me sufficiently for me to ask. I wasn't into pedophiles. They seemed to be something like fairies which existed outside my sphere of concern, sometimes brought into for jocular banter, but never reaching deep enough to remind me of their existence in reality after chat sessions. As far as I knew, they were not real.

Then one chance encounter with some seniors at the bus stop introduced me to the identity of the man who told me not to read a book on a bus.

"Oh my God! The Bishan Gay!"

"Who?"

"That freak! He's staring at us! $#!^!"

"Oh, him? I talked to him once."

And the drama ensues.

It's funny how people take long years regardless of their company to mature, while being an instant with thoughtless friends degenerates you to a simpering babbling idiot. Perhaps life needs less sagely beings. Nonetheless, I began to soak in the wonders of being cliquish, and the marvelous feeling of being included. Hey, I'm part of XX clique, get lost, loser. I became tactless. My sarcastic jabs got worse. I despised people who were loners, forgetting for a while that before I had my 'friends', I was a loner too. And some of those people I laughed at now had sat with me for lunch during my solitary days.

Part of me felt ashamed, but the draw of being in constant company, without being lonesome again, was deviously attractive. After all, they're just losers. But then I didn't know that nothing is everlasting.

When everything fell apart, and I found myself isolated again, it seemed like the very end. I couldn't go back to my pals. I couldn't face the people I've mocked, for I am what they were. Worst of all, I couldn't even face myself.

Slowly I realized. Even if you're in the light, you still cast a shadow. People are imperfect in the way that they could never obtain the flawless quality of transparent glass. They could only struggle in their little opaque bodies of secrets and turmoil.

So I grew out of it. And one day, when I was pondering these during a bus trip, I remembered the Bishan Gay. And he was exactly like the people I had mocked. He could be a father, or a grandfather. He could be a loving husband. He could be a friendly colleague. He could an inspiring teacher. He could be a agapic volunteer. And I would never know, because like many others, I judge him from what I hear from others who probably had never known him personally. I know nothing about him, yet I detest him because of hearsay, and not by assessment of his character.

It takes something to hate a person thoroughly. It takes a complete understanding of that person, and the knowledge that you couldn't in all your life learn to accept him/her. There's no doubt about it. You have to loathe that person.

I don't think I've reacted that way to any person. I don't know anyone that well. Humans are too secretive.

Someday or another, I would want to eat at a fast food restaurant, and see the Bishan Gay staring at me. Then I'll bring my fries and burger and sit across the table he's at, and ask for his name. Then ask him who he really is. What he does. Is he gay. Why so. Understand him as a person and not another prejudiced person.

He might not be innocent, but hey, that doesn't mean he's guilty. We all have to find out.

signed, jiasheng