Why I’m Tired Of Being a Badass
Belligerence has long been my M.O. for dealing with the fact that way too many things in life are beyond my control. But I’m starting to realise that being a badass might not be working for me anymore.
Browsing through old family albums, I came across photos of myself as a seven-year-old. In most of them I am scowling. I have my hand on my hip and I’m staring intently at the camera with fierce brows, the top left corner of my lip raised in what looks like the beginning of a hoodlum’s snarl. If a kid with that face came up to me today, I’d probably kick it. That demeanor, together with the frightening pageboy haircut my mother had given me, made me look like Damien from “The Omen” — a thuggish little demon child ready to unleash the wrath of hell on anyone who messed with her.
I haven’t changed much since then. Unfortunately for me, those childhood photos capture my personality as a grown-up. I’m a badass — the type of person that the Oxford’s Lexico dictionary describes as “tough, uncompromising, or intimidating”.
As I grew up, I learnt enough manners (from my very gracious parents) to blend in with non-demonic types. I learnt how to speak and act appropriately so I could associate with those with gentler natures, those who walk in the light. I adopted all the right facial expressions so I could be part of civilized society. Under the right circumstances, if you met me and we engaged in polite chitchat over a cuppa tea, you’d think I was a right sweetheart, you might even think me good-natured and kindhearted.
But boy is it hard work keeping up the charade!
Being a badass served me well as a teenager when I needed to break ranks with my parents and other authority figures. In my twenties, being a badass helped me gain dominance within the party pack, and enabled me to have as much uncomplicated sex as I wanted without suffering heartbreak. In my thirties, it gave me an edge in my professional life because I could chase goals like a rabid dog, never let go and chomp on anyone who got in my way. Somewhere down the road, I figured that if I were badass, people wouldn’t give me as much shit as they would if I were Miss Goody Two-shoes.
My younger, less evolved self saw badassed folks as the straight-talkers and sharp shooters who spoke their mind…
