How to be nice

How can you be nice to others? Some people think being nice is fake and is hiding your true feelings. I think these people have issues, or they have never met anyone who's genuinely nice to them. It is so simple to smile. And it gets easier when you get one back.

But you get mad when you get a scowl instead. You feel like an idiot. That's what I have been feeling these days. People just are plain irritating alot of times. It puts me off being nice.

I always try to make a point to appreciate the background people around me. Like the cleaners and others who work so hard but doesn't even get noticed. So this morning, on my way out, I nodded and smiled to the security guard at the gate. He just "gyin" me and tilted his head up to look down on me. Lovely. Fucking racist bastards. They are all smiles and ass-kissing to the blondes and the red-haired, and snub the yellow skins.

I had higher hopes for China chinese. I thought they had more pride. They are simply the same as the rest of Asia. Fucking white cock suckers.

Why can people treat everyone as equals first before proven otherwise? You either get white-god worshippers, or white-trash haters. The truth is simply we are all the same. The same averages of idiots, scumbags, poor, rich, talented, unemployed, CEOs, dickheads and geniuses. So stop being racist.

Then it's easier to be nice from inside.

Sunset in Shanghai

That's what it feels like. A long sunset. Seductive dark blue tones eating up the warm red and orange. It gets abit colder. The streetlights and neon come on now, trying feebly to replace the glamour of the sun. Watching the night devouring it's prey tastily, I 'm lured into thinking that I'm not just a spectator. The last sunlight clings on to my cheek and I feel it's warm fingers losing grip. I stretch my hand out. But I can't touch any of it. Then it's gone.

That's what it all feels like. Being part of everything around me, watching everything collide and dance, almost predicting the motion of earthly bodies and feelings, but somehow not being able to touch and affect it. It's not like I'm trying hard to change anything yet. Something inside me is telling me that it's not my scene yet. I'm waiting to be cued in. Anxious to jump into the scene yet calm in the knowledge that the stage will be mine.

How can it not yet be time? I've been behind the curtains for some time now. Looking on at the stage, serving tea for the main acts, pretending to be small. I think I'm pretty good at pretending. Everyone around seems to believe it now. Thankfully, I'm not such a good pretender to convince myself. I'm not great. But not small either. Mediocre? Well, you can decide after my act.