Bad Girls

March 5, 2010

Yesterday I finished reading Bad Girls: 26 Writers Misbehave. It’s a compilation of essays edited by Ellen Sussman. From the harmless, little white lie to committing adultery, these essays show the different facets of a bad girl. I wrote an e-mail to Ms. Sussman, thanking her for coming up with the book. Having been a bad girl when I was younger, I felt alone despite knowing that there were others like me. Back then, it felt like the bad girls had a secret underground club of some sort that is being shunned by society. Now that there is actually a book that celebrates the bad girl in every woman, I feel a little less alone.

It left me wondering though, what is a bad girl? Is it the one who taught you how to smoke or the one who took the bait and smoked her lungs away? Is it the one who drank too much to temporarily forget family problems or the one who drank too much to get noticed by guys she knew wouldn’t even glance her way? Is it the one who did mischievous things in order to fit in to the ‘cool crowd’ or is it the one who bullies others to feel better about herself because she has very low self esteem? It’s kinda hard to tell, isn’t it? It really depends on how you look at it. I think society and religion dictate what a ‘bad’ girl is. It depends on social norms, those domestic unwritten/unspoken rules, the law, even tradition. What is normal in other cultures may be considered ‘bad behavior’ in some. Of course, if what you did caused harm to another person, that would generally be considered bad, but other than that, the line between good and bad gets blurry.

In the past, I tried writing about my experiences as a ‘bad’ girl, posting those things in a blog that was accessible only by invitation, meaning not everyone can read it, but like many other things I’ve started, I was not able to follow through. Something inside me wanted to chronicle them before they drown in forgetfulness and dementia when I grow old, but on the other hand, something inside me wanted them to be buried and forgotten. At that time, the feeling of wanting to bury all the bad things I did overcame me and so I stopped writing about them. I told Ms. Sussman that reading the book rekindled that dwindling fire, the burning desire of putting into words my experiences. Now, that compulsion of writing down every juicy, little detail is resurfacing again. Whether it’d be a blog or a book, I don’t know yet. But definitely, someday I will also write my story.

(Image from EllenSussman.com)

Bus Rides and the Battle Between Good and Evil

January 15, 2010

It was a Monday. And every commuting employee or student knows that Mondays are hell on earth on the road – the snail-paced procession of an endless line of smoke-belching vehicles, elbows poking your ribs, the smell of cologne mixed with sweat, the perimeter of your personal space reduced to zero. No wonder the only people who love Mondays are those who have this day as their rest day. I hate going to the city on Mondays, but it can’t be helped as work sometimes requires me to.

That day, I psyched myself I was not going to be able to secure a seat for the entire ride. I was prepared to stand in the bus aisle for about two hours or so. Not long, the man sitting nearby stood up, declared he was getting off the bus. Our eyes met, a silent understanding that I could sit in his place. And so I squeezed myself in that packed bus, inching toward the vacated seat when suddenly another guy swiftly made his way and took the seat. In my head I was screaming you fucking son of a bitch, that is my seat! I glared at him, while he pretended not to know I was doing so. I stood beside him and shook my head, still glaring at him.

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