The Art of Being Ferocious

I just heard from a co-worker that our representative in Bandung feared me. I'm not sure at what level of fear she feels about me. It can be ranging from a kid nervously realizing for the first time he has an erection by looking at a his sweaty, muscular gardener to a confused teenager accidentally murdering his pregnant girlfriend.

Anyway that co-worker only told me that this girl in Bandung wasn't too pleased about the fact I would go to Bandung alone (usually I went there with another colleague(s)). What really blew me away was upon knowing the fact she didn't know what to talk to me if she's left alone with me.

Just when I thought I was open to any kinds of conversation subjects. Corny or heavy. Clean or dirty. Shallow or thought-provoking. Heterosexual or homosexual. Cold facts or lukewarm fantasies.

I do tend to talk straightforwardly and lose temper easily. Especially when hungry, when the traffic gets from bad to worse, when I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, when that man in KL is suddenly playing Harry Houdini, when my tongue hasn't got in touch with a decent cup of coffee for days during my travels to non-producing coffee lands, when period nears but it gets delayed somewhere that I can't tell when it would really come onto my panties, when I haven't got laid too long that I can't remember anymore what a rigid member of a man looks like, when trusted friends put me way way after their romantic partners in my hours of need.

But never have I had the intention to hurt anyone. Well, except one or two on my secret homicide list. But that's all about it. Even if I have the urge to kill someone, I shall make it as quick and painless as I can. Like simply injecting a deadly serum into their veins and it would be like putting someone to sleep.