I am a simple me.
I don’t wear designer labels. I don’t drive a merc. I didn’t go to Ivy League school. I don’t eat at a posh restaurant. I don’t own fancy tech gadgets.
I am just I.
I drive a funky little van. It’s a Vauxhall if anyone wants to know. I am awkward with good-looking intelligent people. I am shy and usually closed-mouth (that's why I blog). I sometimes wear jeans when I go to work. I eat at warung and kebab takeaways. I use an old third-hand (or maybe fourth) PC passed down to me. The only latest brand-conscious-item I have is a cute red Sony digicam, bought because I was greedy and wanted to show off to my good friend who has a Nikon. Which I can point out was unnecessary because I now keep it safe in the drawer at all times. Hah! Pathetic nutcase.
Two weeks ago, an Iraqi immigrant who is an engineer working in Brent Cross came for dinner at my flat. Well, I didn’t invite him, my flatmate did. From the first moment he started talking I knew I wouldn’t like this guy, but since it’s Ramadhan, I shouldn’t let him get to me. There were five of us in the lounge talking to each other while waiting for the iftar when this chap asked me and another guess, Aneta, what we do for a living. If you knew me, you’d know that I wouldn’t brag about my job so I just shrugged and said I work at an ice cream factory. And Aneta said she would start work at the same ice cream factory. But both of us didn’t mention what we actually do.
Thinking that we both are 3rd class immigrants and have low-life jobs, he started rambling about how a person has to have good education to get a better life, and telling us to go find a college to study some courses that offer a certificate or diploma or even better, a degree. Because according to him, until we do that we won’t be able to find a good job with good pay check. He gave himself as an example that he studied hard and that took him to where he is now. A chief engineer. All the while, I was boiling inside because of his chauvinistic comments. And again, if you knew me I’m not easily rattled since I like to keep my cool.
At one point, I lost my cool and said, “I went to a university and I’ve got a degree and she’s got one as well.” I wasn’t trying to show off but I just want to kick his teeth!
As if he doesn't believe me, he responded with a smirk on his face, “Do you? Well, yeah but you have to find a job that can make you happy and give comfortable living, like my job. What for you work hard but get so little money?”
“Eh, hello? You do not know about my job or me. So please do not make any assumption. I make enough and I am happy with my job. I am satisfied, why should I look for something else?” For which he kept silent.
I hate an argument. I would rather watch from the side than getting involved in one. I hate chauvinistic Neanderthal who thinks they know better, gloats about their achievements and thinks that the helpless little women should stay at home with one hand on the ‘rotan’ and one hand ‘selak kain’ waiting for them to come back.
He still doesn’t know anything about my job and I rather keep it that way. I am not a walking advertisement. I don’t care what people say as long as I am happy with my choice. Who are they to tell me? My life is about me. You stupid chauvinist, go fuck yourself!
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