Me Bloody-fool.

Growing up, I’ve been called a bloody-fool for as long as I care to remember.  It became so synonymous with me that I’ve forsaken quite early on any bitterness of being called one.  I can’t think of any particular outward aspect of me that would bring it about; it just happened.  One moment I’d be going about my own wits and next thing I’d hear “Bloody-fool!” and sure enough, that would be me.  There never seem to be any anomalies, disaster or catastrophe in my vicinity that I could attribute to having deserved such a sanglant nomenclature; so it can’t be that I was such a klutz.  I’ll admit I was not the most circumspect of characters but nor was I behaviourally bovine when in a china shop.

In retrospect, it is true that I lacked the trophies I was supposed to collect like checkpoints in a video game during those formative years; no ‘A’ laden certificates of education, no plated trophies for athletic achievements, no weighted medals in recognition, no seriffed scrolls of commendation, nor any frame-worthy citations. I just wasn’t much of a recorded achiever so the lack of such would probably qualify me as a candidate for the title to those who need such material manifestations in their opinion or judgment of a person.

Study-wise, I was constantly distracted by the intrigue of understanding rather than just memorizing for exams.  History fascinated me as true stories rather than putting dates to names or events.  Physics was such a revelation of forces around us and not just about formulas or reciting word-for-word laws and definitions.  Biology was organic mechanics that was sadly reduced to naming parts.  Language was relating the world through different ways by the placement of words and structure.  Geography was simply fruit for imagination.  Okay, I sucked at mathematics; that I left to being purely functional.  So due to my lack of Instant Data Ignoramuses Consider  Knowledge [iDICK] I would not have been a very exam friendly candidate.

For extra curricular activities, I was not coordinated well enough for the delusion of being a soccer star; I had a weak left foot.   Athletics hardly had any creative merits and seemed too regimented.  Art was about painting within the lines of statuesque poses and was hardly expressive.  Never much into uniforms and thought the boy scouts were too faggy in those shorts and scarves – and their affinity for ropes.  I had a distant disposition for contact sports like martial arts.  Of course I was into music but not the marching kind that would have made parents proud in stadiums; music I was into just had such bad press thanks to Keith Richards; so there was probably nothing there to boast about in polite circles.

I was constantly talked to for being such a bloody-fool, but that just made things worse.  Their form of conveying advise was purely instructional and was related to their own experiences which I realized quarter way through their talk, had no similarities or bearing to the circumstances or time-space I was in.  There was hardly anything that I could walk away and use from their advise; apart probably from knowing the fact that they care enough to have done so.  As there was not much from their ‘wisdom’ that I could apply for my betterment, I would then appear, I don’t know – Ungrateful? Obstinate? Rebellious? Rude? Insolent? Disrespectful? Or by their simpler all-encapsulating semantic signifier – a bloody-fool.

From my novice quasi-psychoanalysis I could say that the bloodyfoologuous phenomenon would result in low self-esteem and lack of self-confidence.  It probably did but I wouldn’t know because for one, I never had the competitive edge in me; and by excluding myself from competitions I would not know how I would have fared in one.  You could deduce that the low count of self-esteem/confidence was why I would not be competition fodder in the first place.  Well, here’s the paradox – I just could not see any sense for competivity and would be bold and confident when stating such.  No low self-esteem or weak self-confidence when I make my case against the apologists for competition; and from the fact that the bloodyfoolness persisted suggests further that I must’ve stuck to my guns quite fortuitously there; because in situations when I stand by my opinions with the full regalia of a healthy self esteem and glowing confidence, I’d hear “Bloody-fool!” once again.

What I can say was a result of the bloodyfoolomena, and am delighted to do so, is that I avoided aloofness and cockiness within myself.  [I should first of all state that the ‘cockiness’ I’m avoiding here is the ‘Mr/Mrs/Ms-know-all’ cockiness of the non-charitable variety; i.e., those who will never give credence to any view that does not conform blindly to the sheer pig-headedness of their set opinions-arguments.] I would never assume that what I know is the ultimate conclusion gouged in alabaster and in that way I’d always be open to further answers or extrapolation with the willingness and readiness to say I’m wrong when I am; simply because if you’re being called a bloody-fool often enough you’ll find that it is not easy to be too sure of yourself.  For instance, if I met someone who would not or could not blindly conform to conventions or socio-cultural-codes agreed upon by some ineffable consensus which defies sense and sensibility, I would not immediately conclude the person is a Bloody Fool.