On Cursing Positively.
I am on the addictive, sometimes exhausting journey of self-improvement. Everything I do, I try to do it better. That said, self-improvement is not just limited to one's actions, it also ties to one's frame of mind, including how you think about yourself, the people around you and their actions, and your surroundings as a whole. I’m surfing on this refreshing wave of positivity. I just hope I don't fall since I can't even get myself to float.
I have been converting vulgar curses into less vulgar ones, proselytizing ones with negative meanings into those of positive connotations. To illustrate, instead of saying' 'goddamn you', I say 'God bless you!' Better, right?
Curse words were prohibited in my (read: my parents') household. I remember wishing I could fast forward time to when I'm in my 20s just so I would be free to curse (and see what I look like too, of course, of course). My mother counted saying 'dumb' as cussing, FYI, although it's venial compared to other derogatory expressions and she would just pull a mean scowl that insinuated the threat of a twisting pinch if my ass said it again. As such, I resorted to other creatively less vulgar-sounding pejorative terms. For example, I used baboon as a replacement term for babi -- which means pig in Malay; duck in place of fuck (sometimes luck, or buck, and on the rare occasion, fish); and so forth, you get the idea.
My parents didn't know it but I was a raging sea of curse words on the inside. There were days I felt unhinged, nauseated and unsure of who I really am. I have developed an overpowering and insidious alter ego.
The feeling almost amounts to (what I imagine) having murdered someone, and the authority's out looking for the culprit who has not the slightest idea how to cover his/her tracks, and you know your days are numbered and it's just a matter of time until beams of blue and red pulls up on the curb in front of your house to slap a handcuff on your wrists and lock you up. Not that I know how THAT feels like but I visualize that is probably how it goes. Every day I thought, 'This is it, my mom will know.' And she never did. Good thing humans aren’t telepathic creatures.
I would mentally mutter strings of vile words arbitrarily. At first, it was fun. Cursing in incognito mode, silently rebellious. Viva Autonomy! Viva Freedom! Viva Victory! Viva Human Rights! I would stand before the mirror, and flip my middle finger continuously just because. It felt liberating to be able to do so without receiving my mother's glare of impending doom.
Then I began to lose control. I curse at literally everything, and everyone, even when I don't want to, in my head. I’d gone rogue on myself. It's like there was a little guy in my head who's incessantly angry at the universe, made his dwelling inside my head, and unleashes his feelings there. What I initially perceived as freedom turned into a battle for freedom.
I got the idea in the bathroom, as I was brushing my teeth whilst ruminating about life. Then it’s as though my mind sort of accidentally ran through this derelict file in a desperate attempt to find a fruitful, intriguing topic for my twice-daily, 2-minute Shower Thoughts. I went through the dusty folder, and BAM! A figurative LED light bulb lit up, an inch from the top of my head. Wayment, is that how lightbulbs sound like? BAM?
I would like to assure you that I am all present neurotically; there's not one melted or disconnected wire in my cerebrum. Please bear with me.
I was the one at school who would frown at my friends when they threw in a curse or two in the conversation we were having, putting up a facade that harshly whispered "How immoral of you! How degrading! How D-I-S-G-R-A-C-E-F-U-L!”
Now that I think of it, it's not that I found it distasteful, but rather because I felt guilty and worried. I felt as such because my mother did her best to raise me and my brother to be good, solid citizens both morally and socially. We were indoctrinated to stay away from people with potentially negative influences, so as not to ‘catch’ their traits.
It's like being told to eschew a sick person so you don't get infected, not knowing that the sickness, the disease, it has always been within you, developed inside you, grew over the years like a sweet fruit tree, veiled and hidden from unassuming eyes.
It’s not dissimilar to the gnawing feeling of betraying her. Behind her back. I didn't ever want her to find out because she would think it was her fault, she had blundered and raised us wrong, and it would hammer her poor brittle heart to smithereens, and I couldn’t do that.
Observation: I have used less and lesser expletives after embarking on this constant and self-repairing avenue, and the urge to use one of abject vulgarity is incredibly low.
Some events that occur in life tend to engender the expression/s of profanity, and occasionally it could even be unwarranted, unexpected and just blurts out of your lips in a fit of strong emotions. Bear in mind it can transform into an unhealthy obsession to the extent of not being able to go a day without spewing vitriolic terms, maybe even excessively and unnecessarily to the extent that we hurt the feelings of the people we love and cherish.
I have been converting vulgar curses into less vulgar ones, proselytizing ones with negative meanings into those of positive connotations. To illustrate, instead of saying' 'goddamn you', I say 'God bless you!' Better, right?
Curse words were prohibited in my (read: my parents') household. I remember wishing I could fast forward time to when I'm in my 20s just so I would be free to curse (and see what I look like too, of course, of course). My mother counted saying 'dumb' as cussing, FYI, although it's venial compared to other derogatory expressions and she would just pull a mean scowl that insinuated the threat of a twisting pinch if my ass said it again. As such, I resorted to other creatively less vulgar-sounding pejorative terms. For example, I used baboon as a replacement term for babi -- which means pig in Malay; duck in place of fuck (sometimes luck, or buck, and on the rare occasion, fish); and so forth, you get the idea.
My parents didn't know it but I was a raging sea of curse words on the inside. There were days I felt unhinged, nauseated and unsure of who I really am. I have developed an overpowering and insidious alter ego.
The feeling almost amounts to (what I imagine) having murdered someone, and the authority's out looking for the culprit who has not the slightest idea how to cover his/her tracks, and you know your days are numbered and it's just a matter of time until beams of blue and red pulls up on the curb in front of your house to slap a handcuff on your wrists and lock you up. Not that I know how THAT feels like but I visualize that is probably how it goes. Every day I thought, 'This is it, my mom will know.' And she never did. Good thing humans aren’t telepathic creatures.
I would mentally mutter strings of vile words arbitrarily. At first, it was fun. Cursing in incognito mode, silently rebellious. Viva Autonomy! Viva Freedom! Viva Victory! Viva Human Rights! I would stand before the mirror, and flip my middle finger continuously just because. It felt liberating to be able to do so without receiving my mother's glare of impending doom.
Then I began to lose control. I curse at literally everything, and everyone, even when I don't want to, in my head. I’d gone rogue on myself. It's like there was a little guy in my head who's incessantly angry at the universe, made his dwelling inside my head, and unleashes his feelings there. What I initially perceived as freedom turned into a battle for freedom.
I got the idea in the bathroom, as I was brushing my teeth whilst ruminating about life. Then it’s as though my mind sort of accidentally ran through this derelict file in a desperate attempt to find a fruitful, intriguing topic for my twice-daily, 2-minute Shower Thoughts. I went through the dusty folder, and BAM! A figurative LED light bulb lit up, an inch from the top of my head. Wayment, is that how lightbulbs sound like? BAM?
I would like to assure you that I am all present neurotically; there's not one melted or disconnected wire in my cerebrum. Please bear with me.
I was the one at school who would frown at my friends when they threw in a curse or two in the conversation we were having, putting up a facade that harshly whispered "How immoral of you! How degrading! How D-I-S-G-R-A-C-E-F-U-L!”
Now that I think of it, it's not that I found it distasteful, but rather because I felt guilty and worried. I felt as such because my mother did her best to raise me and my brother to be good, solid citizens both morally and socially. We were indoctrinated to stay away from people with potentially negative influences, so as not to ‘catch’ their traits.
It's like being told to eschew a sick person so you don't get infected, not knowing that the sickness, the disease, it has always been within you, developed inside you, grew over the years like a sweet fruit tree, veiled and hidden from unassuming eyes.
It’s not dissimilar to the gnawing feeling of betraying her. Behind her back. I didn't ever want her to find out because she would think it was her fault, she had blundered and raised us wrong, and it would hammer her poor brittle heart to smithereens, and I couldn’t do that.
Observation: I have used less and lesser expletives after embarking on this constant and self-repairing avenue, and the urge to use one of abject vulgarity is incredibly low.
Some events that occur in life tend to engender the expression/s of profanity, and occasionally it could even be unwarranted, unexpected and just blurts out of your lips in a fit of strong emotions. Bear in mind it can transform into an unhealthy obsession to the extent of not being able to go a day without spewing vitriolic terms, maybe even excessively and unnecessarily to the extent that we hurt the feelings of the people we love and cherish.
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