Pointless Malice

I understand jealousy. We are all do. We’ve all been jealous of someone or the other. I understand its human and for most part, I know when I get jealous. Unlike what some people tell me, I don’t feel confused when I am jealous. Instead I feel a moment of complete clarity of what I want and where I want to get to. I was only just discussing this with my husband, who pointed out that when I get jealous of something or someone, I become superbly determined. Anyways, the point is, I get jealousy but what I don’t get is malice.

People say intense jealousy leads to malice. Perhaps they are right but I don’t understand why people cannot channel their jealousy the right way. If you are jealous of something, why not try to achieve it or get it for yourself, instead of thrashing of harming the object of our jealousy. Why? I know someone like that. A very malicious person and he shocks me everyday. The sheer malice in him and the bad vibes he sends out baffles me. WHY? HOW? How can someone get so malicious?

How can someone be jealous of everyone. Every being? How? No matter how much I think, I cannot seem to wrap my head around the emotion. From a stranger on his evening jog to colleagues in different departments to the CEO’s family, how is it possible for a person to hate everyone and wish evil for everyone. How does that make him happy? How can he attend a wedding, pose for pictures with the bride and groom, eat their food, drink their booze and then step outside the venue and make comments about how he predicts their marriage won’t last? Why does their happiness and well being bother him so much? Why can he not find happiness in anything? Why is making life hell for others by back stabbing them or bad mouthing them the only that makes him happy? How does he explain him to himself? How does he sleep at night.

I’ve lived in 3 countries, in 3 continents, in 3 time zones. I’ve met multitude of people, worked in contrasting work environments yet what I’ve never come across is a person like him. A person with only malice in him. His actions makes me speechless and because we live in a small island, it is extremely difficult to distance yourself or keep away from the negativity. It effects you and brings you down. There are a few of my colleagues who can keep their calm and move forward but not me. I cannot. I feel the need to give him one tight slap and shake him till all the maliciousness falls off him. Who goes to a party, eats and drinks with a vengeance; not cause he is hungry but to rake up a bill for for the host. Who does that?

Tell me, am I wrong is wanting to set mad dogs on him? Am I completely unjustified in wanting publicly humiliate him? To teach him a lesson? He thrives on everyone else’s silence. Am I wrong is wanting to speak up, speak out against him. Everyone tell me to keep quiet, to hold my tongue cause he is on pally terms with the top management and has framed people before and gotten them fired. Should I be afraid? Cause what I feel is not fear but hatred to this complete apology for a human being. Am I wrong in feeling such strong emotions?

I know this is an angry post but I’m glad I wrote this cause suddenly I feel a little (not a lot) better. Have you had people like him in your life? Miserable and pointlessly malicious individuals? Karma, I’ve heard tons about you being a bitch and I think about now would be the time to own up to that reputation and work your magic! I’m waiting!


I am a coward. I can never take bold decisions. I might stand up for a lot of things, give it right back to bullies and is generally considered as a person who can fend for herself but when it comes to life decisions I am a coward. On the other hand, my friends all seem so brave. I could never just pick my bags up and migrate to a different country. Not without a job in hand or some financial security.I could never just go and decide to ‘wing it’. But my friend did when one fine day she and her husband packed their bags and moved to New Zealand with nothing more than some money for rent in their pocket. The risk paid out cause they are leading an amazing life there and with great jobs they love.

Also, I could never just quit my job, my career and jump headlong to follow my passion. I worry too much. However, my less worried friend had no qualms it. He left his extremely lucrative IT career and jumped to follow his passion of being a teacher at kindergarten and what do you know, he is loving life more than ever.

And then recently another one of my friends did something I could never fathom doing. I could never meet someone online, fall madly in love and decide to get married without even having met them. But obviously it is possible and it is done, cause my friend just did it. He met this amazing woman online and fell in love with her and they felt so good about their relationship that they got married. They did not even need to meet before they made the decision. It felt right and they went with it. Their wedding was beautiful. It was an awesome medley of cultures and traditions. It also the establishing of several new ones but as they got married all I could think off and applaud was their courage. Their courage to follow their heart. Their courage to trust and their courage to jump headlong into what they thought was best. Where does this drive to follow your heart come from? Or is it one of those things that you do cause you know its the right thing to do?

I want to do it too. Listen to my heart and ignore my logical mind but apparently it looks like my mind rules my heart cause its always my mind who gets the last word in. Am I getting old?

Forget life changing decisions, I’ve not done impulsive in a while either. I’ve not gone for a midnight walk to the ice cream shop in ages. I’ve not jumped into a pool completely clothed cause I felt like it, in forever. I cannot remember the last time I had a crazy girl’s night out and I’ve forgotten the last time I drove to a new town and explored it.

After the wedding last week, I wonder if I am playing it too safe. If I have settled for the routine. When people are risking migrations to foreign lands and exotic weddings, my big risk seems to making avocado sauce for Z’s pasta, knowing he hates avocados. Not very impulsive now is it?

I gotta shake it up. I gotta make life count. What about you?


Flash Fiction: Operation Success!

The room slowly came into focus as the effects of anesthesia began to wear off. I could see the nurse and the doctor smiling at me. “Congratulations! The operation was a success. One week of recuperation and you will be ready to go home”, said the Doctor. “Thank you”. I replied hoarsely. The Doctor scribbled on my chart and handed it back to the nurse. “Call me if you need me”, he said on his way out of the room. “And hey”, he added “Congratulations again on your new life Alexander, Oh wait sorry, Alexandria!”

I looked at him as he left the room. Alexander? Alexandria? Who are they? I am John and I was here for an appendix removal.


War wounds

I have a scar on my right hand. Well, my right wrist actually. It is a pretty nasty scar and it pretty much looks like I slashed my wrist. I did not, but it looks like that.

Over the years, the scar has been a great conversation starter. People who accidentally see it cannot help but question how I got it.  It is also pretty prominently placed and there is no way I can hide it and so the chances of people seeing it is pretty darn high. I think there is something magnetic about the scar cause one look at it and people want to know how I got it.

Even, seemingly less intrusive people ask me about it. I guess they want to know why I tried to slash my wrist cause in all fairness, it does look like that. I am normally a very cheerful person and so perhaps the possibility of my darkest hour leaving a mark on my hand intrigues them. I am a lover of drama and so I admit it, I feed their curiosity too. I make dramatic sighs, droop my shoulders and avoid eye contact. I smile and refuse to answer their question and that drives them nuts. 

The scar has got me many things from hugs, to knowing smiles, to understanding glances and at one time, even a free muffin. People assume they know how I got the scar and I thrive on their assumptions. If I am in a particularly dramatic mood, I even take the game further and embellish it to my liking. On somedays the scar is the result of a heartbreaking break up. On others, I am the disappointed in myself. I’ve however, never once said that I’ve slashed my wrist. Never. Not once. Yet everytime people assume I did.

I’ve wondered how they’d react if they found out how I got the scar. The true story. That it is the result of a freak accident when a 13 year old tried to throw out a candy wrapper after having sneaked it from under the watchful eyes of her sister who was on candy watch (Don’t ask me why but I don’t seem to remember by she was not sharing that bowl of candies). So engrossed was she in keeping an eye out for her sister that she completely missed noticing that the glass window was not open. She pushed her hands through the space with enough force to propel the candy wrapper to the bin on the outside and was instead met with glass that cut into her hand and gave her that scar.

It is a simple, childhood story yet to this date it provides me with so much drama. Not that I’m complaining cause this story would most definitely not get me a free muffin.