Annie
I'm an Asian-Chinese female who recently turned 30 but who is not
married with child and credit-card carrying partner. Instead, I chose to work on
my doctorate and now am pursuing a career in law. I'm considered strange and
unfilial (ie. Heartless Bitch) in the eyes of the family that I moved two
continents ten years ago to get away from. But I reject that definition because
I'm not heartless and uncaring. It's just that if you have to take
responsibility for who you are, surely you at least have to believe in the
values you live by?
But I am a Heartless Bitch other ways that I'm proud of. I won't shy away
from telling the truth even though it's not pretty. Are you dating a loser with
radiation-level fuckwittage who can't hold a job, plays computer games all day
and who thinks PMS jokes are funny? Get out unless sexist infantilism turns
you on. While I don't agree with women who use menstruation as an excuse for
being in a bad mood, I can't abide misogynistic dicktards. Jeez, being a woman
in our world is enough to put you in a bad mood, but at least put the blame
where it belongs.
I won't give you Hallmark reassurances that life is going to be a-okay
because, well honey, life is hard. But if you're my friend, I'll stick by you,
and the last thing you need is another feel-good saccharine aspartame lie that
doesn't do anything for you.
As for men - spend your money on a dumbass, studio cash-churner if you
must, but don't expect me to stay silent about it just so you can enjoy
"harmless entertainment". What's so fricking entertaining about a film who can't
rise above "oh she's a smart-arse woman she must need a good seeing-to by a man,
oh here comes middle-class white male to save the world and put her right again"
narratives?
I've also learnt that a man who is fabulously wealthy usually does not care
about social or economic policy, except that which suits his profit margin and
tax exemption status. Men who attend gala nights want a trophy wife who looks
elegant and behaves like the lady he'd be proud to show off. In other words, be
a clothes horse and don't open your mouth. There's no way a man who is image
conscious does not then become image conscious of you. I can walk and talk, and
even look the part when stuffed in a fat-disguising outfit. My problem is,
amidst all that swaning around, I feel an uncontrollable urge to do something
off-putting. It's an urge almost like having Tourette's syndrome. All that
pretentiousness makes me want to stick my tongue out, or throw a strawberry at
someone's Prada suit. There's no way I can shut my mouth. If I think a thought,
sooner or later, out it pops. So forgive me, my multi-millionaires, if I'm
intellectually superior and that doesn't make you feel like the king of your
heap. Top it off, the most aggravating thing is that the successful men who
approach me, usually have an Asian fetish and they hate me for being curvy and
mouthy and dissipating the myth they wank off to.
Although I'm not prone to public displays of anger or hysteria, I'm a
Heartless Bitch because I believe there are things worth getting het up about
and that there are things that I will refute with every ounce of my being, be it
through engaging in political discussions, painting it on mile-high billboards,
writing editorials or even wearing neon-slogan t-shirts if needs be. (And that's
even when the 80s have once again slipped out of fashion!) If my being an
articulate woman intimidates you, well then, I've got more balls than you have,
you spunkless pussy.
Finally, I just want to say how much I love strong, angry, focused and
effective women. I don't mean women who merely shout, scream and explode their
personal emotions all over hapless onlookers, although female emotiveness can
also be a efficient tool when used sparingly. But that's not really my style.
Exploding all over the place only makes you look vulnerable and exposes your own
issues to people who are observing. What I admire, is directed, cold,
intelligent anger that has an agenda- the kind that gets things done and dusted.
There's a wonderful scene in a Japanese film called Battle Royale that
exemplifies that. The mock-horror film is about a class of Japanese kids who get
dumped on some island where they are forced to play a game where they have to
kill each other off. Only the last survivor is allowed to leave the island. The
fantastical premise aside, there's a wonderful scene where there's a girl who's
an athlete and has a sort of aloof, focused sort of manner. One of the guys
who's really pathetic and "in love" with her, thinks she's too haughty and tries
to rape her but accidentally scars her face. From being shocked and
disbelieving, she suddenly stands up and turns around, and fixes him with this
look that totally terrifies him. In a slow deliberate manner, she takes out a
pocket knife (as compared to his crossbow) and with the sheer force of her anger
and personality, she gets him so scared that he starts screaming and blubbering
his apologies. Then not only does she kill him, she completely smashes his
masculine sense of self.
Ok, I'm not saying I'm a psychotic bitch. But I totally identified with
that scene as a metaphor. That's how I work too. I give everyone plenty of rope
to hang themselves with. But don't make me want to yank it, because I will, and
hard.
But if I say I can dish it out, I must be prepared to take it on the chin
if you reject me. So I will simply end by saying, it will be an honour to join
you, and leave my application in your capable hands.
Thank you.
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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