Today marks the first full turn of the moon since I offered my services under a new slave-driver, and I must admit I am quite excited. The monetary bribery they offered for my month-long labour is quite appealing for the poor man I am, while the presence of graceful beauties never fails to distract motivate me to toil, even though it means embarking on daily journeys to distant lands.
With my constant travels, I’m sure my compassionate readers will understand my inability to add any insights within this humble space. Yet, with this prolonged absence, previously unforeseen revelations were graciously accentuated to my limited mental capabilities. Not much of a spiritual junkie, the liberation that comes with such epiphany is but a recent discovery of mine.
I must say despite my boyish good looks and tantalizing charm, I was never the type to win any popularity contests. I am simply biologically and psychologically hardwired to favour relaxed yet intimate conversations at a hidden corner of Starbucks over parading around with fake plastic smiles to maintain visibility within a circle. This inclination I inherited from my mom.
However, similarly fated like my mom, I am still astonished by the frequency strangers approach me, claiming that they know me from some past affiliation. Although there ARE a select few who were able to provide such detailed descriptions of me to warrant a second suspicious look, most did not exude such creepy stalker-aura. Heck, most don’t even know my name!
Therefore, those graced by my presence identify me through the many oddities distinctiveness I happen to radiate. Despite my stark individuality, I am proud to declare that I managed to elude the many harsh lessons that span over one’s childhood and adolescence. No cruel epithets or any twisted desecration of my good name were attached to me throughout my youth.
Alas, such matters are inevitable as monikers have slowly gained foothold over this poor soul. A hypothesis that was concocted tells of the immensity of my potential and how it compels people within the vicinity to impart some sort of acknowledgement, yet no approach can be made due to the intimidation most have to endure in the company of one brimming with such promise.
Ironically, the month spent traversing through this new adult phase of life, embodied by a 12-floor office and its surrounding areas, have garnered me a few reputations to say the least. Due to the sheer enormity of the enterprise I’m currently affiliated to, in addition to the diversity of my evident mannerisms, each soubriquet is distinguished by the degree of exposure to yours truly.
A modern day princess once shared that the current corporation I am associated with populate its male half of the workforce with people who are pleasing to the eye. Nonetheless, I am recognized as the Handsome Fellow within the walls of my company. Says quite a bit, doesn’t it? Then again, which other dashing Chinese can boast a full goatee, portending his superior masculinity?
Obviously, such physical qualities cannot be explicitly articulated with the shrinking of the working relationship distances, especially when sexual harassment lawsuits are plethoric at the corporate stage nowadays. It is a dangerous world today, as telling the truth is often deemed offensive. Try calling a 20-year-old female co-worker a ‘girl’ and watch the lawsuits come in.
Hence, those within my department chose aliases that reflect more of my eccentricity rather than any outstanding physical traits, no matter how tempting. Thus, I am better known as the Bag Guy (not remotely related to the Bag Lady) due to my insistence to uphold the scouts’ motto. It can’t be helped that being prepared means some sort of carrier is needed to house my stuff!
Still, as the crowd gets thinner and the group grow closer, I go by another name. I must reiterate to the IDIOTs that I have not defected and established a new clique in this current chapter. It is true I exhibit a palpable tendency to tag along a particular bunch for lunch, but do not let these ostensibly habitual associations fool you. A deeper connection in mentality is still unreachable.
Nonetheless, that did not stop a handful of my colleagues from christening me with the third, and final, nickname for the month: Fung Yao Boy. It is no surprise why such appellation was affixed to me, especially when the moniker is not entirely original. A housemate of mine used it once and I am not afraid to admit again that it is ONE of my many proud distinctive features.
There you have it, the three titles that evaded my carefully placed defences against stereotyping after barely a month. I am sure that more labels will bloom as my sphere of influence increases, but I anticipate each will remain clung onto me for years to come. Are they pleasant or are they distressing? It is too early to tell. I am just glad that they are not that bad at the moment.
