Love Love Love Love…hmmm I wonder why my nick is ‘loveluv’?
Love…
The snow beats down upon my window,
As it calls out my name incessantly,
To adorn and behold its beauty,
Which will cease when the season is over,
Out on the snowy white field,
Like a pool sprawled of pure white daisies,
I draw on it of our love so deep,
With drops of dark red blood,
Representing my devotion for thee,
Which means more than mere red roses,
With a notion of love, but superficiality…
Did you ever have dreams when you were a child? Well, never mind if you’re still a child………
Dreams…
Heavenly stars so bright,
I reached to touch the light,
The glitter seeps through my palm,
I stirred in the night so calm,
As I saw the fairies playing,
In the brightness so alluring,
The beauty that beholds my eyes,
Like a tree unfolding its leaves,
The dream of a distant memory,
As it reveals its magnificent glory,
I stirred again in my sleep,
And heard the sound of weep,
As the stars and fairies bid me adieu,
I looked up and exclaimed ‘Mon Dieu!’,
Then I woke up reluctantly crying,
As the sunshine came pouring,
Through my glass window pane,
That brought me back my sane,
As I face another day of reality,
The typical child life in a bustling city…
I love flowers…who doesn’t? Beautiful scent, colourful petals too…But flowers can portray a dark side…as exeplified in my next poem…
Flowers
White and pure they lay in my hands,
A puff of gentle wind they lay still,
Still as the breath in my throat,
Blue and pretty they lay on my palms,
A shower of rain they lay still,
Still as the tears in my eyes,
Red and tender they lay on my hair,
A brush of my hands they lay still,
Still as the blood on my lips,
Black and deadly they lay on my face,
The closing of my eyes they lay still,
Still as the arrival of night.
What comes to mind when the word ‘ghost’ is mentioned? Well, this is a little sum up of what I think….
Wandering Souls
no warmth from the bright sun
nor feel the passion of love anymore,
She sees only streams of dark moving clouds
amongst those inhaling in living air,
who are those, only wandering souls
is there room for pity,
in that heart of yours?
no shell to contain her soul
nor shelter from stormy nights,
where is she to dwell
please do tell her where,
She’s so lost in the crowd
of frustrated and confused souls,
her anger heats and boils up
but that takes her nowhere,
in the chilliness of night time
She sees a sea of people,
whilst you see only your following shadow
you do not hear her and the rest,
as they sulk and curse of their rotten fate
your destiny is an envy to all,
you still have warm breaths
and pink rosy cheeks to match,
as you look forward to the future
to fulfill your awaiting destiny,
but what is she and the rest,
only wandering souls and nothing more.
Yeap, the title says it all,but I’m not a P-E-R-V-E-R-T, and you shouldn’t be one either…yadabadaya…I lecture enough in class, so I’m not about to give you all a free lesson…so I’ll let you off d hook this time until I switch career doing something else other than yadabadaya in a classroom. Hmm, I can’t seriously remember how long ago this was…In fact, I don’t recall writing it…but since it has my name in it, I’d guess that I was the creator of this *boring* piece of writing. If the last posting didn’t bore you to death, this certainly has a better chance of achieving its aim………hehehe! But yes, I wrote it for my Japanese history term paper while I was in Doshisha Women’s College in Japan. Here goes…
Love and Prostitution During the Tokugawa Period
The Genroku period kabuki play called “Love letter from the licensed quarter”, written by Kuruwa Bunshoo, is recognized as a sewamono, which is a play about the lives of contemporary commoners and also called a keisei or keiseigai, which is a “prostitute” or “prostitute-buying” play (Brandon, p. 5). The prostitute play became a characteristic of
Kyoto (and
Osaka ) kabuki and it was brought to perfection by the
Kyoto actor, Sakata Toojuuroo (1644-1709) (Brandon, p. 6).
From this story, we can learn about how the brothels operated during the Tokugawa period and also how the Japanese people spent their New Year during that period by looking specifically at the pleasure quarters. Then, we will see how love fitted into the role of a high-ranking prostitute during that period and also take a brief look at how a typical low-ranking prostitute was viewed by the people of that period of time.
This story takes place in the Yoshida brothel and it talks about a fictional character called Fujiya Izaemon who is a wealthy and pampered young man who has been disowned by his family after squandering a small fortune on a courtesan by the name of Yuugiri of the Shinmachi licensed quarter in
Osaka . After two years of wandering, he finally returns to the quarter, wanting to meet Yuugiri, whom he hears is sick (Brandon, p. 6).
Yuugiri has promised to entertain a wealthy samurai that day for the first time since Izaemon left, and so Izaemon is very angry with Yuugiri and they have an argument when they finally meet. But good fortune is to come, and soon some family servants
rush in carrying chests of money to pay off Izaemon’s debts and to buy off Yuugiri’s contract with the brothel (Brandon, p. 7).
During the Genroku period, love scenes are explicitly erotic and there are even some theaters that showed lovers together in bed. Genroku prostitute plays were more sensual back then than we might imagine from reading the present script. Many people flocked to see prostitute plays because they instructed the spectator on how to carry off with the proper finesse a visit to the quarter (Brandon, p. 7).
The character, Yuugiri was based on a well-known courtesan by the same name from the Osaka Shinmachi prostitute quarter, who suddenly died in the year 1678. It is during this time that this play “Love letter from the licensed quarter” is performed and thus people start to make kabuki plays out of the latest town scandal (Brandon, p. 7).
When we read this play, we can see how the brothels operated during the Tokugawa period. During this period, in 1678 to be exact, a customer did not visit the house of the courtesan, but instead, met her at an ageya, which is a brothel, where they were entertained and where they spent he night together with the prostitutes (
Brandon , p.217).
During that time, when a courtesan became well-known, then her name would spread out all over
Japan , and thus she would receive patrons from faraway places who would travel a long way just to see her and to be entertained by her (Brandon, p. 218). To fit the title of a famous Genroku courtesan, she would have to have a white face, delicately formed and extremely beautiful, graceful in her movements, physically alluring, accomplished and sophisticated (
Brandon , p.231). Most of the courtesans
were sold to the brothels and became prostitutes at a young and tender age and then she would have to stay in the industry all her life unless she was bought by any man who was both willing and could afford to pay the money (Brandon, p. 235).
Her patrons would be wealthy men who would lavish small fortunes on her. Servants of the brothels would often flatter these wealthy men and quite naturally, they would throw coins (Brandon, p. 219). When a poor patron was to come to the brothel, he would receive bad treatments from the servants because he would be looked down upon, even by the low-status (Brandon, p. 221).
Patrons with delicate features and powdered white face were very attractive to the courtesans during that time, as most of them were forced to entertain the coarsest of men (Brandon, p. 223). But for the high-ranking courtesans, they could choose to either entertain a certain patron or not, as the master of the ageya had to seek consent from her before he could agree to entertain the patron on her behalf (Brandon, p. 219).
After looking at the way the brothels worked during the Tokugawa period, we now move on to the various customs practiced during that time in celebrating New Year’s Day, by looking specifically at the pleasure quarters. These brothels also received patrons during this time of celebration and they started the year auspiciously by keeping to the traditions of celebrating New Year with hanging Shintoo sacred straw rope under the eaves and also with great tubs of cut bamboo, plum and pine branches flanking from the entrance of the brothels (Brandon, p. 217).
Even the guest rooms in the brothels would be decorated with New Year
offerings and hanging decorations with large sliding doors painted in snow scenes
(Brandon, p. 224). Men servants of the brothels wearing short happi coats over plain cotton kimonos were made to pound mochi, which is a rice cake, a traditional New Year’s delicacy (Brandon, p. 217). This was a particular well-practiced custom during the Tokugawa period because the phrase “to pound mochi” has a sexual connotation, meaning sexual intercourse, which is what the brothels really depend on to earn big money (Brandon, p. 217).
Next, we will see how love fitted into the role of a high-ranking prostitute during that period. Nevertheless, even famous courtesans fell in love easily with patrons who possessed features like the ones Izaemon had (Brandon, p. 223). However, even if they fell in love, and had a child together, she was not allowed to leave the brothel until her contract had been paid off, which needed a lot of money. And the child they had would be put out for adoption, by either the master or the mistress of the brothel. But in truth, probably the infant would have been strangled and had his/her body thrown away (Brandon, p. 227).
When a courtesan kneeled beside her patron and arranged his hair with a pin that she took from her elaborate hairdo, this showed a sign of deep affection that she felt for him (Brandon, p. 234). Another way to show deep affection was the tying of the sleeves of their kimonos together and writing love letter on a letter scroll as long as ten or twelve feet (Brandon, pp. 234-235).
Those men who fell in love with the courtesans would often be very jealous when the courtesans had no choice but to entertain other men. They would fly into a rage and haul abuse at these women, but they could not do anything to help with the
situation of the women because they probably could not afford to buy off their lovers’ contracts (
Brandon , pp.226-235).
Now, we will look at how low-ranking prostitutes were viewed by the people during that time. These low-ranking prostitutes were called manzai geisei (street prostitutes) who probably didn’t belong to a brothel and looked for patrons by herself in the streets (Brandon, p. 232). Unlike the high-ranking prostitutes who worked in high-class establishments such as the Yoshida brothel and who were admired and patronized by many wealthy patrons, these manzai geisei were looked down upon by society in general.
In conclusion, we can see that the Tokugawa period was a very open-minded society and that high status and money were very important and desirable during that time because it determined how people looked at you. From this, we can see how the present Japanese ranking system was formed.
BIBLIOGRAPHY*
Brandon, James R. Kabuki: Five Classic Plays.
Honolulu :
University of Hawaii Press, 1992. [CENTER COLLECTION; LIBRARY RESERVE]
(* This is a nifty little trick to ensure that no lawyers come aknocking on my door and sueing me for plagiarism…Well, you know what they say? They say ‘teachers know best’…)
Here’s the sequence to Eri Part 1. DO NOT READ ON if the first part bored you to death (If tat’s the case, you probably couldn’t have been "solid" enough to have put your right/left hand on your mouse, guided the cursor over the link Eri Part 2 and clicked on it, could you? Sowwie, but I’m being logical here.) Brave on for those of you who are curious at heart…Hey, you know what? They say great minds think alike…I’m braving on…
By the time we reached the station, both of us were drenching wet from head to toe. There were not much people left at the almost deserted station. When we got up to the ticket counter, the kind attendant, Mr. Taguchi, an ageing man with a sprout of white hair informed us that the train was going to be late.
“There is going to be a bit of a delay with the train, I’m afraid. Apparently, there are some problems with the steam engine and our technicians are trying to fix the problem at Amagawa Station now, which is just two stops away. Hopefully we will expect the train to be here some time within the next hour. If you don’t mind, you may come into my tiny office and have a cup of hot tea. Getting caught in a downpour like this isn’t very pleasant, my dear,” he offered invitingly, and to which we gratefully accepted.
On first impression when we first stepped foot into the office, we could see that the place was a bit run-down, but with the bright orangey bulb hanging down from the ceiling, it helped to convey a very cosy and welcoming atmosphere. Mr. Taguchi scurried over to an old-looking chest of rosewood drawers located at the back corner of the room, opened the last drawer and removed two fading green-coloured towels for us to dry ourselves. Though I was a bit reluctant to even touch the towel being offered, (God knows who would have used them before!) I took it anyway after my aunt nudged me with her elbow after a moment of indecisiveness when it was held out to me by the smiling old man.
As my aunt was attending to my long damp hair, rubbing it with a reasonable amount of force, the kind gentleman this time poured out rich-looking mugicha (wheat tea) from a chipped plain brown-glazed teapot into two matching ceramic cups.
“Beautiful tea this is,” he assured us, as if the sweet aroma didn’t tempt me enough. After thanking him, I quickly sipped the tea in a manner likened to a wolf pouncing on an innocent sheep right in front of him. My aunt gave me a side-way glare which seemed to be reminding me that I was a lady of a noble descent and to mind my manners even when I was around common civilians. I gave a frown, but did mend my ways.
Aunt Chitose and Mr. Taguchi started a small talk, from the sudden outburst of summer rain, which was a weird phenomenon (for rain in such a dry-weathered season was a rarity indeed) to the black and white photographs hanging from wooden thick frames on four walls of the room.
“My father and his father before that had been the station master for the last few decades or so, as you can see from these pictures,” his eyes followed the first and second picture on the wall just behind where we were sitting. Our gaze followed his.
“ I can see a resemblance there,” commented my aunt. “However, I do not see much similarity between you and them…”
His mouth curved into a smirk. “That’s because I was adopted.”
Aunt Chitose’s face flushed and she apologised profusely for speaking her mind.
“Nothing to be sorry for. After all, they had all treated me well, almost like their own son. In a way I could be considered very lucky. I can still remember the day Mother and Father came to bring me back to my new home. The faces of the other kids whom I had grown up with…I can still remember…” He began shedding a tear or two.
The rest of the wait for the train was filled with awkward conversation, just to fill in even more awkward silence. I was glad I was just a child and could just sit there, swinging my legs never having the need to do any entertaining.
When the locomotive train finally pulled into the station and sounded its hoot, I awoke with a jolt from my aunt’s laps, where I had fallen asleep soundly some time ago. Rubbing my eyes and giving a discreet yawn, I was put to an upright position by my aunt who then led me out by the hand while mumbling, “Come, come. We must board the train now.”
Mr. Taguchi sent us off to the door of the waiting train, which would only be stopping for 10 minutes for passengers to board as it was already behind schedule for almost over an hour now. Before we stepped into the front car of the train (which was the first-class compartment), Aunt Chitose turned to the old station master and gave him a half-bow to indicate her respect for him as well as thanking him for his kind hospitality.
And so the day ended with us getting home late and the fussing of mother over the state we were in. Aunt Chitose told her the whole story, but was careful to emit the fact that the twisted ankle was a consequence of my own mischief.
“How clumsy, Eri! I’ve repeatedly told you a young lady such as yourself should not have the trait of a boisterous commoner’s children. It’ll do nothing good but bring disgrace…” the nagging soon trailed off into a mumble, well for me at least. However, it was only a brief telling off for soon, she got the maid to nurse my now swollen ankle.
Later that night, prompted by a crash of thunderous roar from the sky, I found myself wandering dazedly into my aunt’s room and slowly clambering up the unoccupied side of her bed. What happened next was so dreamlike that I couldn’t remember how I ended up back in my bed, with a cooling ice-bag over my forehead, and various members of my family sitting beside me with apprehensiveness written all over their faces. With much exertion, I forcefully opened my eyes and it was then that I noticed him. It was a tall, middle-aged man dressed in white medical garb, with the most charming and captivating eyes I had ever seen. That pair of deep-set, twinkling eyes were extraordinarily hypnotizing. In hindsight, this profound sense of attraction that I had initially felt towards this stranger must have been due to the delirious state that I was in, a by-product of a high fever that had broken out the night before.
“She’s opened her eyes!” someone squealed with excitement.
“Thank Lord!” followed another.
Soon everyone in the household came flocking around my bed as if I was some alien specimen waiting to be meticulously examined.
“Oh, thank you so much for curing my precious Eri, Okamura sensei!”
And that was how I first got to know his name, the handsome doctor who first stole my heart…
For the next few days, Okamura sensei turned up consecutively every morning to pay me a visit to see how his little patient was doing. Though shunning the bitter-tasting syrup that was prescribed to me at every available opportunity, I never once resisted when the doctor himself fed me a big spoonful of it.
“Sensei, may I know how old you are?” I enquired on one such morning while sitting up in bed, having breakfast, which consisted of miso soup, some eggs and a bowl of unagidon (rice with eel). I still remembered it was a beautiful day, with cottony fluffy white clouds dotting the azure sky, as the heavy curtains in my room were drawn apart that day. He had just walked into the room and greeted me, “So how’s the missus today?” and to which I shot back a standard reply.
“And are you married?”
He seemed rather startled at my line of questionings as well as the abruptness and the bluntness of it, but gave a warm smile anyway and asked me back in a light-mannered way, “How old do you think I look like then, Miss Eri? And do you see a wedding band on my ring finger?”
I grinned and responded cheekily, “Just because you look young and without a ring on a finger doesn’t mean you’re not taken!”
To this, he chuckled. “Aren’t you a feisty little dame! How old are yourself then, if it’s not at all offensive to ask a lady her age. However, I guess it’s not bad-mannerism to ask someone of your tender age to reveal her age. It’s nothing to be ashamed of anyway.”
I pursed my lips and pretended to sulk, “Hmmph! I don’t look my age!”
“Hah, I should have known better than to ask. I’m sorry it was my mistake.”
Deep down, I was hoping that he’d cajole me into telling him my age, but taking on a more serious and professional note, he added, “I’m pleased to announce that your health has been recovering quite speedily.
Started on this piece of work ages ago, but never got round to finishing it. It happens to me all the time. Why can I never finish off what I start?! It’s a vicious cycle….or rather, the lack of a circle….Well, it’s about time to get cracking again…Well then again, maybe I’ll procrastinate yet again…You may shake me, slap me, but I’m not a drama queen, so I won’t be lodging a police report on assault anytime soon…Enjoy it while it lasts………….
It had obviously been a very grand and majestic colonial-styled structure during its heydays back in the eighteen hundreds. Even now it had a very mesmerizing effect on me, though my eyes had taken in all its visible flaws…where parts of the walls had collapsed, revealing one hollow room after another, and how wild ivy had so daringly clung all over the concrete, as if gripping to dear life itself.
The sky overhead of me was now glowing a dull mixture of orange and purple, indicating that dusk was to be due anytime soon. Though night was creeping near, the mellow light still allowed me the little privilege of visibility. The cries of crows flying through the dark cloud-gathering sky also dramatically heightened the atmosphere of the area…purely ominous.
Arms behind me, hands clasping together, I stood on tiptoes on the porch and tried peering through the front door into the pitch-black hallway, which seemed to have no end. No signs of life.
“Eri…! I give up on finding you. Now, come on out! I surrender!” a soft woman’s voice was carried firmly through the eerie quiet air a distant away, though there was also a hint of helplessness and panic in the way the words were projected.
In my deep fascination with the run-down building, I had almost forgotten my Aunt Chitose. That was how my aunt had always been. She embodied the trait of the most rational of men, had the most reserved manner, which was probably what gave me the impression of her being very aloof. I couldn’t exactly say I disliked her in any way, but she came across as the type of woman whom you either feel admiration towards or intimidated by. Though I wouldn’t say she was very attractive, she displayed an air of elegance, which never failed to captivate young men’s fascination. Though I might add, these attractions never last…
There even came a point when my greatest ambition was to become another Aunt Chitose. Maybe it was my mother’s ultimate wish too, for she had invited Aunt Chitose to stay with us just after I came into this world and thus, she was unofficially appointed as my nanny. She watched me grew from a feeble little toddler to a young lady of nearly her height.
The only thing lacking was my poor mannerism. Loosening the grip from my aunt’s delicate soft hand while we were ambling down the picturesque sandy white beach after a delightful and scrumptious picnic on a piece of floral cotton cloth and running off into the sunset to play a personal game of hide and seek for one, undoubtedly exemplified the kind of person I was; a free spirit without a care for consequences. It would certainly take a lot of effort to turn me into the fine lady Aunt Chitose was…or was it more appropriate to say I no longer desired to be like her.
After all, I could sense her loneliness, particularly after she sang me a sweet lullaby to lull me to my dreamland and gave me a tender goodnight kiss on my forehead as I pretended to sleep away. There, I lay silently listening for the faint closing of the heavy oak door of the room next to mine and imagining what must have been going through Aunt Chitose’s mind during this quiet time every night before darkness finally engulfed the mind. You must think how unethical a damsel like me was, but one couldn’t help but wonder what was in stall for my only aunt, considering she had had several failed attempts at relationships. Would she end up one day a spinster living in utter solitariness?
“Eri…Eri…” the desperation in Aunt Chitose’s voice grew. All of a sudden, I felt a pang of guilt that weighed heavily on my heart. After all, Aunt Chitose was a pitiable soul however much charisma she did possess.
Even though we did not share the same umbilical cord from birth, but it was an undeniable fact that she was much closer to a mother figure than my mother ever was. This was not to say my mother was neglected in the affection department, but just Aunt Chitose had been there for me the whole 12 years. Well, I might have to add that she did venture overseas, to
Austria , I believed the name was, to further develop her talent in violin. I did try before, sneaking into her room while she was out having tea by the lake with Mother one late afternoon in the warm month of June. I still remembered the first time I lay my clumsy fingers on that exquisite antique violin that was once the pride and joy of my grandfather. As fine as it looked, one would only be too ready to anticipate the emission of the same kind of distinctive tune that matched its fine outlook.
However, to my utter displease, what came out of it were just waves after waves of unbearable croaking sound. Surely that must have been another infallible sign that there was little hope of me ever fully able to exhibit the much desirable qualities that should have been borne by every female member of a prominent family, especially my own, where for generations, had been land-owners.
But how was I to compare with my aunt? She and grandfather had made it a habit to lock themselves in the music room upstairs, fiddles against precious fine pony hair, pulling away all evening until late into the night, weaving note after note of beautiful angelic music. Talking about that, she had stopped practising her violin for almost a year now, since grandfather passed on to a better place, I was told.
It was certainly a horrendous lost for me. Though I may be inartistic, yet I was lucky enough to know how to appreciate fine melody, and truthfully, I did find it a great pity. As I was only a child, I did not bring up this issue with my aunt. I was sure she would have done what she would have wanted to do without further prompting from anyone. So obviously, this was a rather personal choice that she had decided upon, and I did not have a good enough reason to argue against her will, if you would consider the desire to listen to beautiful violin music a reasonable and satisfying excuse, if not at all a selfish one.
The distant voice of Aunt Chitose pleading once again brought me back to reality. In my haste, I turned back and tripped over my long pink flowing yukata (summer kimono), with abundant prints of snow-white cranes, heads lifted upwards gracefully with their wings spread out so realistically that one could almost feel the flapping of their wings producing gentle breeze against one’s cheeks.
“Ittai! Tasukete! (I’m in pain! Help me!)” I implored my aunt, as my little trip had brought me flat down onto the hard ground.
Soon, her vague outline promptly came into sight as she came through the thick dark wood into the glade, with the faint accompanying rushing footsteps of wooden geta (Japanese wooden slippers) against dry cracked soil gradually getting louder. How overjoyed I was to see her!
“Eri! Are you all right?!” her voice was trembling with the realization that I had inflicted injury upon myself. She was now squatting down beside me. What an improper thing for a lady to do! But no time for that now. I was writhing in agony.
“Yes..but I think I must have sprained my ankle…It’s painful!” I chocked back tears.
“Hush hush, let me take a look…your right ankle?” Her concern for me was genuine, as I could observe from her perspiring face. It must have been the result of an exhaustive search. I bobbed my head up and down. She reached out and began massaging that particular area, to which I winced, as a sharp pain bolted right up my calf. Seeing this, she said sympathetically, “I don’t think you can manage to walk, Eri. It’s best I carry you on my back to the station now. The last train out of the place is going to leave soon. We don’t have much time. Come on, bear with this for just a little while. We’ll get you a doctor as soon as we got home.”
With that, she turned her back towards me and I obediently climbed onto it, hands grasping tightly around her neck. Lying on her back as she battled my weight (by the way, this wasn’t an implication that I was heavy) and the uneven stony earth below brought me thinking once more. Never have I once disliked my aunt, even though my earlier thoughts would probably have convincingly reflected this. However, let me try and rectify this false impression. I guessed I could safely admit that on the contrary, I harboured a reasonable amount of affection and respect for this gentle creature.
Even my sassiness had failed to make her see red and blow her top. Or did she keep it all bottled up inside her, a good indication by the awkward silence that was maintained during the whole journey to Ikigawa Station? Perhaps I was analysing too much into it. She must have been simply and utterly exhausted, that was all…wasn’t it?
Although it took only a quarter of an hour by foot to reach the station, within the next five minutes, a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder interrupted this brief period of quietness and much to our dismay, an unexpected light shower followed. The air had become cool by now, with the sun shying away from the black satin blanket that was now slowly veiling the horizon. Aunt Chitose said some words of comfort which I could barely made out and her steps got faster and faster until it almost broke into a run.
It’s funny how life’s little surprises jump at you, and always so abruptly too, I must add. Here I am, sitting in a little cubicle, one hand holding a blunt pencil, the other scratching my head, scribbling away on a piece of A4 paper. It all seems so familiar.
Why, you might wonder. After all, this is the
first time I’ve ever really been to a job interview.
I didn’t even have one when I got my first job! Just
a phone call, and off I went, boarded a plane and came
all the way back to Malaysia.
‘Goodness gracious!’ A lot of people had commented with a subtle hint of
sarcasm, ‘Fancy getting a decent job on the wonderful world of internet.’ Being a carefree individual with no care for consequences, I would wince at them and retaliated, ‘It’s my country after all!’
However, on the plane back here, a slight doubt and hesitation clouded me.I related my tale to the tall, dark handsome gentleman sitting beside me, as he
willingly lent me an ear. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he assured me. Miraculously, these words that came through the mouth of a stranger managed to soothe my
building concern. Then I thought back to the monotonous life-style I was leading back in NZ, the country down-under (but once I saw this postcard with
the map of New Zealand on it, where some geniuses had dubbed ‘NZ-up-above’ simply by turning the world map around! How clever!).
Oops, sorry…I got a bit carried away…Well yes, it all seems so familiar. If you ponder just a little bit more on it, you’ll probably come to the
realization that what I’m doing now is to gain acceptance. We all go through it-rich or poor, weak or strong…It’s a fact of life. We’ve always yearned
for a place in everything in life. Since the day you were born, you’ve been doing this subconsciously…Gaining acceptance within the family, peers, let’s not forget the time when we had to apply for acceptance into a varsity or an institution.
Well, we should all have been professionals by now! I think it is only proper that we include another category in job application forms – Acceptability
level – Please rank your acceptability level from 0-10, 0 being the lowest and 10 being the highest.
Well, what do you reckon?
