“O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbor
With your crooked heart.”—WH Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening
Shameful and despicable selective reporting by Hosannas masquerading as free and fair journalism
Press Statement by Anon, de facto Nicest Guy On Earth from Kuala Lumpur, 30/6/2011
I refer to the ongoing smear campaign against me on the so-called news blog known as Hosannas, which at the same time denies being a hipster rag while quoting lyrics from independent folk singers who consider themselves troubadours worthy of demagoguery on any and all issues.
The writer who hides under the thinly-veiled pseudonym T should reassess his or her ideas of blogging and new media if s/he thinks that the Internet is a safe haven from the principles of fair reporting and responsible journalism.
Since yesterday, T has been slandering me with the hashtag #anonismean, decontextualising statements I made many months ago and also choosing to report half-truths and resorting to spin-doctoring not seen since the days of Joseph Goebbels.
I refer in particular to the untitled post made yesterday evening, with a screenshot claiming that I am a certain “Shannon Teoh” and failed to respond to a Google Chat invitation from the said writer.
I would like to state for the record that I have spoken to T on chat with my main Google account and I was not made aware of any other requests to chat from s/he as s/he has never made mention of it despite at least five months of speaking online and in real life.
I reiterate that I do not know why s/he is linking me to this “Shannon Teoh” character, who, on a cursory Google Search, appears to be a mediocre hack working for a two-bit online portal from Malaysia.
I would assume that this is yet another ploy to smear my good name by bringing me down to the level of this supposed reporter, who I understand is disliked if not hated by his peers in the industry.
Moreover, T has never given me the right of response or asked for my comment before running any of the #anonismean posts.
I give T 48 hours to issue an apology and retract his or her claims against me. If T has any outstanding grievance against me, I would like to invite the said writer to meet me over a meal, or coffee or a late night rendezvous in an inconspicuous location so as not to attract the suspicion of the general public.
Once again, I categorically deny these claims against me and will not discount further action should T not agree to my demands as stated in this statement.
* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication. Hosannas does not endorse the view unless specified.
“The Welsh accent is just like the Indian accent so you’re essentially saying you dig the desi way of speaking. The only difference is, of course, that liking anything Welsh is infinitely less cool.”—Yow Hong Chieh
Inasmuch as I dislike my mother (and Mohani, if you are reading, I’ve been thinking about our last conversation a lot lately), there are some things she’s done that I’ve really benefited from.
I won’t deny being a weird kid. In fact, I got tagged with the label sombong, proud, very arrogant. I got tagged with it a lot.
And as much as I’d like to say that I was just quiet, just bookish (I was!), just shy (that too!), the fact of the matter is that I’ve always known I was just a tiny bit sharper than those around me.
God, that sounds awful, it sounds horrible. But my regard for education, my respect for intelligence, my love for intellectuals, there’s no other way to explain it.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m better than people because I’ve been blessed. I harbor insane, gut-wrenching, excruciating jealousy for attractive people. For beautiful people. I’d trade intelligence for better looks, or so I always say. I’d trade a few IQ points for athleticism, for more compassion, for money.
Intelligence isn’t really that important, because you only need to be that much smarter than the majority. A tiny bit, to get you ahead. R would explain it better (and in fact, he has!) with curves and stuff.
Little Lion Man has said he wasn’t smart. Just blessed with a fantastic memory and the ability to absorb information like a sponge. I recall asking him if it was eidetic, it was that good (if selective).
Likewise, I’m not one of those brainiacs you read about, not like Spookie who is a frigging intellectual powerhouse (and didn’t fail calculus). I like to learn, I do it quickly, and if I’m interested in something (and I’m interested in nearly everything) it stays. Not unlike The Alia, and her dalliances with astrophysics (hi Alia! Oh shit, I owe you that story…)
I’m digressing. All over the place, too.
My point is, my mother. Whenever I’d come back upset because someone had made fun of me, had been mean to me, had been rude to me (and I’m a lot softer than I’d like to admit). She’d just say “they’re just jealous of you.”
I really wish we were on speaking terms, just so I could hear her say that one more time.
"Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong, right? Ignore them, they’re just jealous."
Maybe if I repeat that to myself, over and over, this will all just go away.
I’m beginning to suspect that I just bring out the worst in men.
You’re so clever. You’re phenomenal.
I feel so confused. It shouldn’t matter, except that it does, but not in the way that it would have before, but.
Oh, why does it even matter.
You started this, you started all this. And I suppose this is how you end it.
I never even suspected, I never even guessed. Why didn’t you tell me?
I don’t know if this was a game to you, or if you were serious.
And what’s really messed up is I don’t know which would make me lose more respect for you.
I can’t even be angry. All this time, I was blaming myself for messing up the friendship – but I guess we never ever really were friends.
You started this, a year ago. Just slightly more than a year now.
You would have known. Had you already gotten down on one knee when it began? Was it after? Were the brief lulls your attempt at stopping?
I hope I proved a good distraction. For both our sakes, I’ll assume that’s all it ever was.
I really hope this time around it works out. I know how neurotic you are – just as I know you’ll never read this. But chill out: twice is just a coincidence. Three times is a pattern, and it’s far too late for you for there to be a third time around.