Wednesday, July 23, 2003

Big Boys Don't Cry: At least on the outside

Here is an interesting article written by Robert Naseef, Ph.D. That big boys don't cry. At least, on the outside.

As quoted:

As we approached school age, most of us were taught that "big boys don't cry."
To enforce that injunction, those who couldn't hold back the tears had to endure the humiliation of being called a "girl" or a "sissy" or a "fairy." But where do the tears go? Perhaps as my own father once observed, "we men just cry on the inside."

That is the same way I was brought up. Men are not suppose to cry. (Even though I don't mind being called a Fairy) But why is that? Are we suppose to be tough and buff. Physically and mentally, we can endure any pain, any attacks? Well, some men are must more emotional than others.

In a previous entry, I wrote about how I don't cry easily.

Well, I lied.

I brought a bag of orange today to work. (Late afternoon snacks)

Then, I got hungry. So, I pulled the bag out of my drawer.

I was trying to hide my orange from the people walking by me... So they will not think I'm slacking off. (AND I DON'T SHARE!) - Besides, my manager comes around my cubical very often... Since this is the month that my semi-annual performance appraisal is due, I don't want to get caught...

Believe me. I have heard stories about people who used to work in the same department, after getting extremely bad reviews on their performance, they left the company in tears. I'd never want something like that to happen to me.

So, I held one of the orange in front of me. Leaning my body close to the desk, so people cannot see what I'm holding from behind.

I thrust my index finger into the bottom of the orange, then pulled my finger down-wards while pressing my thumb against side of the orange. This allow me to grab a hold of piece of the orange skin.

So, having the orange skin tightly held in place by my fingers, I start to peel the orange.

Then I heard some foot steps.

Without stopping my peeling action, I turned my head.

Nothing. No one was behind me. The foot steps probably came from the other side of the cubical.

As I turn my head back, an extremely strong citrus scent rushed up against my nose.

Followed by sprinkles of citric acid spraying into my eyes...

Ahhh Ahhh~~ My Eyes~ My Eyes~~~

I leaned too close to the orange...

And yes. I cried.

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