The Messiah Complex

Food for thought from Eddie G.

Incredible isn't it, the way how "friends", like weeds, sprout out of completely nowhere. Oh I'm not referring to the sudden influx of traffic in my blog by the way (Thanks pple, and keep 'em coming!). What I am referring to though are people whom I already know. People who know me. People who see me almost every other day. And yet, are people who don't give a shit about my existence until I can save their pathetic ones in any possible manner.

Allow me to explain.

Back in Junior College days, before assignment due dates, despite knowing bloody well that I NEVER hand in assignments on time, I'd get phone calls from people. These people never call me, not even to ask about the weather. But when they do, one of the two following things might happen. a) They might be liable at some point of the teleconversation to go, "Hey, do you know who Eddie G. is? I need his number. Need to ask him something regarding our assignment." and/or b) They (miraculously) know that it is me they're calling and would go, "Hey Eddie! Done your assignment already?"

Goody gumdrops, wow! Someone remembers me! Eddie G. the fucking Oracle! At this juncture, picture two ethereal beings, each about a foot high, materializing on either shoulder. One has a pair of wings and carries a clipboard. The other wears red rubber underwear, has a pointed tail and carries a pitchfork of sorts.

"Well, it does say here that patience is a virtue," says the former, reading off his clipboard.

"Cuss the motherfucker!" says the one with the pitchfork.

Hastily shoving both of them under the covers of my bed, I resume my phone call.

"Um, not really," I would answer. (Assuming that situation b is taking place)

"What question are you doing?" the caller would ask.

"Um, Question Three?"

"Can you do Question Two instead?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because that's what I'm doing! Do lah, then later I copy you can?" came the reply.

The one with the clipboard gave a yelp and shot out of the room in a sort of way that anyone would have if something sharp (oh say, a pitchfork) had nestled up his ass.

"Fuck off!" I said, and hung up.

That problem still exists. And somehow, Itchy and Scratchy here are still vying for shoulder room. No biggie! I've gotten used to them already, just like how my alter ego also has. Only for her, both of them wear red rubber underwear and carry pitchforks. Kinky ;)

So yes. It's Assignment Deadline Season again. And one can only imagine how frustrating it is, really. Only a week ago, when these mofos went clubbing, for movies or yum cha sessions, I was probably the last person on Planet Earth they'd call. And today, they suddenly remember, "Hey, why don't I call that chap... oh what's his name again... starts with E... you know that one who used to come to college in his Hawaiian shirts... Oh yes! Eddie!".

"It's better to give than to receive," reminded the one with the clipboard, who seemed to have some problem with sitting of late.

"Yea. I'd like you to give them a knuckle sandwich," hinted other one, spinning his pitchfork precariously above his head.

In my younger days, I would have. But over the years, I've learnt that there really is no point in being petty and calculative. It really isn't worth the trouble at all. If we can make a difference in someone's life, no matter how small, who cares if we get remembered for it? Who cares if these mofos do or do not acknowledge you at the end of the day? That didn't stop Mother Theresa, nor did it stop Gandhi.

Yes, Gandhi I am not, and God certainly forbid that I become a nun like Mother Theresa. But at the end of it all, no matter how many anal probes the one with the clipboard has had, he is still right. And nothing can ever change that. Does it not say in the Good Book "love thy neighbour as you would love thyself"? My alter ego and I call this "The Messiah Complex". Not that anyone would be building me a shrine anytime soon.

So despite it all, I am still your friend. I am still here for you no matter what. Remind your conscience that before you walk all over me.

How long will I stay this messianistic? Until I get nailed to a cross I guess.