The Cultured Individual

I had a thought, or maybe it was something closer to a fantasy. I imagine somewhere in the future, maybe 50 years from now, and assuming the internet still existed in a similar way to now. I think about someone important, by some random chance, stumbling onto my blog and seeing the posts I have made about 50-60 years ago. I feel like that person in the future will label me as 'one of the great thinkers of our time'. How could that possibly be? I am just one person with one blog in the sea of millions of blogs on the internet. I do not consider myself important, nor would I ever anyone else consider me as important, or even go so far as to call me 'one of the great thinkers of our time'.

When Someone Just "Gets" You

One night, I could not sleep (like most nights), because my mind constantly races between thoughts. On this specific night, my mind thought about a girl whom I was friends with back in my university years. Have you ever known someone who just 'got' who you were? I felt like this girl that I knew back in university understood me quickly.

One Day, in June 2014

It was supposed to be like every other Toronto FC matchday. I would get excited when I wake up. I would hop on the train to BMO Field while downing a few beverages, and enjoy myself at the stadium with singing, chanting, and generally just acting a fool.

On one beautiful June day at BMO Field, things were different.

BMO Field is the one place where I can truly feel like myself. BMO Field is the place where I can get away from the pressures and stresses of life. In the real world, it may seem to someone that I am normal, but when I go to watch Toronto FC, there is a primal instinct that takes over me. Toronto FC, despite being a terrible team and organization, got me through some very bad times in my life. For that, I have nothing but the greatest gratitude. For 90 minutes, I completely block out everything else going on in the world. This was the place where I can be me, and where I won't be judged. Never would I think that the troubles in my daily life and my enjoyment of matches at BMO Field would mix in any way. It just couldn't, right?

However, on that June day at BMO Field, I knew she would be there.

She was a girl I knew from university. We would chat regularly on social media and occasionally we would meet up in person to hang out over a drink or two. She was a wonderful girl, and she was the person who I enjoyed the company of the most during my time at university. Admittedly, I did have some feelings for her, but I never confessed it to her, due to the fear that it may negatively affect our friendship. Also, around the beginning of 2014, the last time we saw each other before the June TFC match, she was going through relationship difficulties, and I was dating a girl myself. The feelings still lingered inside me, and I occasionally thought about breaking up with my (then) girlfriend for a shot at her.

I would sometimes tell her about my trials and tribulations as a Toronto FC supporter, and despite never going to a match, she seemed interested in going at some point. I was a bit taken back when she texted me that she would be going to her first TFC match on that June day. I didn't ask her who she was going with, but I did ask where she was sitting, so that I may find her during the match.

I was in a state of anxiety. As I've explained, Toronto FC is where I get away from everything in life, including speaking to her. It's not meant to be taken as an offence, but watching Toronto FC is the best place to clear my head, and it is my personal "inner sanctum" to engage in chanting, drinking, and other fun things. To have her there at the match where I get away from everything worried me greatly. When if she sees me at the match, and I'm leading or taking part in some of the chants, or drinking heavily and swearing excessively at opposing players.

Even worse than that, I was extremely worried about who she might be going with. When if it was her boyfriend, whether her old one, or someone else she met. Did I mention that I had strong feelings for her, stronger than any crush or girlfriend I ever had? For a time, I genuinely thought she was "the one". To see her cozying up with some guy at the place where I am the happiest in life would destroy me emotionally and psychologically. Guess what? I was in for a serious dose of reality.

The day started seemingly normal. I met a buddy of mine at the train station and we took the train to the match. I packed a potent concoction of Wray and Nephew and orange juice to sip on, so I was already liquored up by the time we got to BMO Field. On that train ride, I felt the anxiety build in me, which the alcohol may have made a sizeable contribution to. Of course, I had the usual pre-match jitters, but my anxiety was amplified by the fact that she was going to be at the match, possibly with someone such as a boyfriend. I had to get to the bottom of this, because it was killing me inside. I made the decision to go see her at half-time, since I knew what section she was sitting in.

I met another buddy of mine, and we all went to the north patio to watch the first-half. I remember the match quite well, actually. Toronto FC were up against the San Jose Earthquakes, and Jermain Defoe scored a penalty to make it 1-0 to TFC. That score remained until half-time. I told my buddies that I was going to see someone at half-time, and that I may or may not come back for the second half. The halftime whistle blew, and at this point, I was a dangerous mix of anxiousness and drunkenness. I left the north patio and began to walk what seemed like a never-ending staircase up to the west grandstand with my overpriced beer. I wished that staircase actually was never-ending, because what I saw shocked me.

As soon as I walked to the top of the stairs and looked over to the entrance of Section 127, she walked out, holding the hand of another man. My heart dropped, and I felt my chest get tighter. It was almost like I couldn't move, like a black hole formed inside my body and proceeded to internally tear me apart. At this point, I felt like I was on autopilot. I had to go investigate.

They were walking away from where I was, so I approached them from behind and tapped her on the shoulder. She seemed happy to see me, and on the surface I was also happy to see her, but on the inside, my pain was unbearable. She introduced me to her boyfriend, who seemed like a nice guy. He was a big Toronto FC supporter, like myself, so at least we had something in common. We made small talk, I asked them about the match and about her first experience at BMO Field watching TFC. I couldn't really remember what they said, because I was still dealing with the metaphorical kick in the groin when I first saw them.

We parted ways after some conversation and I went back to the north patio where my buddies were. I told them all about my situation, and their understanding made me feel a bit better, and to get my mind back on the match. At that point, I did everything I could to make myself forget about what happened at halftime. I drank more, I led chants, and I abused opposing players (without going overboard). It was a great short-term remedy, but when I got back home after the match, the thoughts about that moment began to creep back into my mind. I even went into a depression for a few days.

This happened about 9 months ago at the time of writing this post, and it is okay for me to finally tell this story. This is behind me now, but I still have some worries that are still lingering. I am a 2015 Toronto FC season ticket holder, and I will most likely be at all the Toronto FC matches at BMO Field. I'll be honest, I don't really want to run into them again. It's something that I am still not comfortable with, but knowing that around 30,000 people will be at the stadium for a TFC home game, the chances of me encountering them should be minimal. The girl and I also haven't really spoke since that June day, and honestly, I don't really have a desire to talk to her again. However, I am open to rekindling our friendship. I'm not sure, only time will tell. I do wish her all the best, though. I will treasure the good times we had together.

Felt good to finally get that off my chest. It felt like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.

The Post-Graduate Classmate

This year, I kept myself busy by completing my post-graduate diploma at a nearby college, specializing in Project Management. There were only six people enrolled in the January intake of this program, and while I could probably write a story on the five other people in the program, there was one specific person whom I had an interesting relationship with. This post is about my interactions with her, who, for the sake of this post, I shall call "Masia". I will not reveal her true identity, for the fear that she may find this post, and come after me in a series of hateful texts and Facebook posts. Unlike the other story that I wrote about Dave, Masia actually has a social media presence, and I have to be careful about what I say here about her.

Of the six people enrolled in the program, four of them were international students from India. Masia was one of those people. She was already an accomplished woman prior to coming here, with her Engineering Degree and a good job in India. I struggled to understand why she would come here to further her education when she seemingly had everything going for her in India. I guess, India isn't exactly the best place in the world to live in, which would most likely explain why a lot of Indian students would go to other places, including Canada, to live, work, and study.

From the first class of the first semester to the last class of the second semester, it was clear that Masia was determined to try her best and get the best possible marks she can get, and I respect her for that. However, her rationale and the way she tried to obtain the best marks she could, left me in a bewildered state. I'll explain the rationale first. She was absolutely convinced that by getting good marks, she will able to get a job in Canada. It almost never works that way, and that kind of thinking is plainly naive. Marks can help to get a job, but it's not about what you know that gets you a job, it's who you know. In my opinion, your networks and connections are much more helpful in landing a job, rather than your knowledge.

Whenever Masia gets a test or an assignment back, and she gets something wrong, she takes it upon herself to cut into class time and present her case to the teacher that her answers were correct and that she should get credit for that. It rarely works, but her willingness to use the class time for her personal gain instead of the rest of us learning new material left myself and the other students angry. Why couldn't she wait until after class to present her issues to the teacher? These actions relate to her incessant pursuit for good grades. Another thing I found annoying about her is that she would always ask us what marks we got whenever we would get a test or assignment back, like it was some sort of competition. You get good grades to benefit yourself, not to use it to claim superiority over others.

Masia was one of the most difficult people I have ever had to work with in my days at school. Because of her engineering and managerial background, her seniority, and the fact that she was about four years older than the rest of us, she was seen to be the "leader" of any assignments or projects that we worked on. I also had natural leadership tendencies, and I was also seen to be a leader within the group as well. Inevitably, we clashed on a number of things over the duration of the program. Although she regularly produced quality work for the team when it came to projects, whenever she presented issues to the team, she did it in a way that was confrontational and detrimental to the team and the project we were working on.

Masia also tried to engage in micromanaging practices that made myself and the other classmates uncomfortable. For example, when we were in a team together, I wrote a paper that happened to be a couple of words over a prescribed limit. After the teacher said she was okay with it, Masia decided to throw a fit and chew me out over the fact that I had a couple of words over the limit despite the fact the teacher was fine with it. Masia was very strict with rules, which can be a good and a bad thing. There were times where Masia wouldn't listen to reason, and it seemed like it was always her way or the highway. That made her a bit petulant.

When it came to presenting projects and other material, Masia was by far one of the most boring presenters I have seen in my post-secondary schooling. If you tell her to present something for 5 minutes, she will drone on for 20 minutes. She always fails to stay brief and to-the-point. She always has to explain every single thing in great detail, which is mind-numbing for the rest of us. It almost seemed like she thought we were stupid. There were times where teachers had to cut presentations short because she took up a lot of time. I would always use the stopwatch function on my phone every time she would present something, because she would always go over the limit, which is hilarious considering she would always try to go by the rules.

Masia is a perfectionist, and her attitude and demeanor reflects that. I remember a specific time in one of our major projects where she demanded she be the leader of this project, and she sadly misread the project description and instructions. Our project reflected this misdirection, and Masia took the blame for the critical error. Apparently, after this, she went in the bathroom to cry for about 45 minutes, and she profusely apologized through a badly-worded text message.

Masia rates getting good grades highly, so it was no question that she became a bit of a target when it came to submitting peer reviews for major projects. I'll admit, I deliberately gave her low marks and listed some of the issues that was described in this blog post as the reasons. I suspect that other classmates did the same. After a presentation for a major project where I presented an issue log that may or may not have portrayed her in a negative light, she angrily responded in another of her badly-worded text messages. I did apologize after.

The biggest lessons I took from my interactions with Masia are the ways how not to be a good leader. Just because you're older and have more experience in a managerial background, it doesn't mean it makes you a better leader than someone else. Masia was authoritative, confrontational, and she engaged in micromanaging. Her failings as a leader helped me to become a better leader myself. It is important for everyone to have a say in how a project can be run, and also, the team members need to be empowered so that they can be better motivated to complete their work. My interactions with Masia were hard to deal with sometimes, but overall, it was definitely a learning experience.

The Story of a Man Named Dave

I've well documented, whether on Twitter or on this very blog, that my first year at university was probably the most entertaining and the happiest time of my life so far. Most of the people that lived in my dorm were a delight to be around, and to get to know. However, with all the great people I met, there were a couple of people who lived at my dorm who were a bit odd. I am going to tell the story of one such person that I've regularly encountered in my first year at university.

These are my experiences interacting with a man named Dave.

Dave looked like your typical nerd. He was a rather tall fellow, almost Frankenstein-like. His skin was pale white, and the blushes on his face were as prominent as the glasses he wore. He always dressed in the same cargo pants, like he was about to go camping, and he was always hunched over when he walked, like Quasimodo. His freakiest feature was his fingers. I can't describe it in words, but this popular YouTube video easily expresses what it looks like. His voice was as deep as the bottom of the ocean, like a lonely blue whale yearning for a soul-mate.

Dave was a fourth-year student at university while myself and almost everyone else in the dorm were first-year students. All throughout his university career, he lived in a dorm, and it surprised me why he wouldn't live off-campus after his first year. I can only speculate, but maybe he wanted to try to get to know new people every year and build some friendships, but as I got to know him throughout my first year of university, he turned out to be quite a bizarre individual.

Whenever my friends and I were doing something in the lounge, whether it be playing cards or video games, Dave would walk in and observe what we were up to. Sometimes he would just walk out and not say a word, while other times he would try to strike up a conversation with us. Even though the commonalities between us and him were small, he was included in the activities that we did. As we got to know him, he became more comfortable with the rest of us, and we were exposed to some of the strange things that he did.

A couple of times that we ate together, Dave would order a sub and then proceed to apply an insane amount of mayonnaise to his sub. Every time he took a bite of his sub, a big gob of mayo would drop from his sub (or his mouth) onto the paper the sub was originally wrapped in. That's pretty disgusting, if I do say so myself. When we would order pizza, he would take a slice from the pizza box when he wasn't even half way finished eating the slice already in his hand, which is a bit greedy in my opinion. When it came to girls that he didn't like, he would call them "wenches" like we were living in a time when pirates dominated the seas. A phrase that he regularly says is "You've gotta be fucking me" which is a variation of the popular phrase "You've gotta be kidding me" (though I'm pretty sure no girl wanted to fuck him). I got the feeling that his presence in the activities my friends and I did made everyone feel uncomfortable, but no one had the guts to speak up about it, except behind his back.

Dave was also an avid drinker, and it seemed like every evening, he would always have a can of beer while we were all hanging out in the common lounge. Most of the dorm-mates have not seen him drunk, but I remember the distinct time when I've actually seen him drunk. One night, my friend and myself were playing Zelda in the lounge, and he would come in and watch us play while helping us out with the quest and pounding beers. He ended up getting drunk, and kept referring to the Song of Time as the "SOT". Whenever Link was in danger, Dave would angrily tell us to "play the SOT". This may not be the most entertaining drunk story, but let me emphasize that despite drinking beer every evening, you would never see him actually get drunk. It would be like watching the Aurora Borealis.

Most of the interactions with Dave are whenever we would play Super Smash Brothers on the old N64 in the common lounge. Dave would play along with us, and because no one really liked him, everyone would try to eliminate him from the game early. Whenever I played Smash with him, I always made sure that I get him out first. He had names for the characters I always used. For example, he kept calling Pikachu "the rat" (Sidenote: Pikachu is a mouse), and he kept calling Yoshi "the constipated dinosaur", which is true, to be honest.

He would also get angry when he gets eliminated from Smash. On a couple of occasions, he would throw the controller on the ground and walk out of the common lounge. There was also another incident that would live in first year infamy. My friends thought I had a bit of a rivalry with Dave when it came to Smash. One day, after I again crushed Dave, I blurted out the following line:

"I don't consider you my rival, I consider you my bitch."

I never meant to actually say those words, but Dave was upset, called me some names, and then stormed out of the common lounge. After he stormed out, everyone started bursting out in laughter. I regret saying those words now, but I guess it acted like a release of what everyone thought of him. Nobody really liked him.

Looking back at all of these interactions with Dave, Dave was actually a nice guy and tried to fit in. But his awkwardness, behaviors, and mannerisms made everyone feel uncomfortable. No one really had the guts to tell him their feelings toward him directly, so we all shunned him in a passive-aggressive way. At the end of first year, I could see why he lived in the dorms for his entire time in university, and I think it was because he couldn't get along with his dorm-mates in prior years. It's quite sad thinking about it, and from time-to-time, I wondered what he would be up to now.

I know it's about 5 years too late, but I would like to apologize for my conduct towards you. I genuinely hope you are living a nicer life.