James Bond and Self-Control

I wonder sometimes if self-control is a good thing. I rarely exercise it, maybe 2 in 10? There are instances I have to, the effort for which is like pushing a boulder off a cliff. I get used to having it for some things. Like on social media. I do post as many photos of me, my family, my friends, places I go to, to share. And to make sure that I document every official function for the auditors to see. I love to write, so I write away each time I get an inspiration from a moment or a memory, well, because I want to share, yet again. And I want to be discovered and be like Mocha Uson, except that I do not and will never have a body like hers. Last couple of years, I toned down my political rantings upon the advice of the favorite uncle. He is right, really. One can never have a stand on anything when in the public service sector: just do your job, which is to serve, no more, no less. More importantly, though, my 17-year-old son called me 'unhealthy' on facebook. Now, when you are 50, and your own flesh and blood tells you that, then something is terribly off with you. I am still as sarcastic as ever, but now I find that it is amusing to write about serious stuff, then make fun of it just for the kick of it. 

Those who know me personally would say, yeah, 2 in 10 is about right. That ratio, I explained first. The 8 in 10 would cover my many other episodes when I decide to be a bitch more than my normal. Yelling is not really my thing, but I do so at times when I know that if I do not, the vein behind my neck would explode. I am more of the low-pitch, loud-volume, kilometric-English, with two-hands-poised-above-the-waist, eyes-glaring, apologetic-but-a-bitch-anyway type. I walk out of meetings when I am certain I will blurt out words I would later regret, but you have to give me an A for saying 'I am sorry but I have to walk out now.' 

People know I am truly upset when I start speaking in English. Or reply to messages with profound thoughts, the type which are uncalled for or clouding the issue. Amidst frustration, I am most eloquent, that maybe the people who caused the frustration might wonder if I suddenly became a medium in a seance. I noticed that my emotions rule over my better sense because I am a deeply sensitive and feeling person. When things do not turn out as expected, I feel hurt more than angry. Not the spoiled-brat-type of hurt because I did not get what I want, but the pain stems from expectations that others are as discerning and passionate as I am about all there is around me. When I love, I embrace you with a bear hug until you are breathless. When I feel happy, I laugh with a cackle coming from the pit of my stomach. When I am sad, I cry, and my tears fall, plenty and hard until my eyes bulge in weariness. When I hate, I feel it creep into my bones. I do not intend to restrain myself times when I feel these. I believe strongly that restraint stifles my ability to express myself: my love, my happiness, my sadness or hatred. Suppressing thoughts and feelings, to me, is a form of self-torture. And I feel pity for those who do so, not annoyance or irritation, but pity. They punish themselves by hiding behind the walls they themselves built, suffer in silence, and pray that the hiding will end soon. They hide behind their stern faces, their busy schedules, their important responsbilities, their own feelings, you know, like James Bond. Cool and exuding quiet confidence, never faltered by any emotion. But as I see it, there are no longer James Bond-exuding people in a world where we ought to be honest and accepting of ourselves. It is no longer admirable and respectable for people to be detached from what they have, here and now. 

So, I swear I will never watch a James Bond movie ever. If he, by some stroke of miracle, shows affection and care at the very least for his leading ladies, and not only jump into bed with them, then I would watch his movies again. But the 'under control' machismo projected by characters like him on film, these no longer impress me. In fact, I see them hanging by a thread and will plunge into hypocrisy. What a waste, right?