Red in the Face
Take a deep breath and let your caveman instincts die down
I AM FILLED WITH RAGE and the jackass in front of me won’t stop laughing. I throw as hard a punch as I can, every kilogram of my frame behind it, hoping to shut him up. It connects but he barely flinches. I panic, throw more punches desperately and watch them do absolutely no harm. I wake up in a puddle of perspiration, jaw aching from grinding my teeth and think to myself, “Bloody hell.” The armchair shrink in me can’t help but theorise my most frequently recurring dream as a giant blinking neon PSA: Warning. Anger causes Heart Disease. You CAN Be Happy. Call 1800-SMILE-MORE for Free Therapy. It’s not the only reason I’m inclined to believe that yes, I may be an angry person. Anyone who has grown up with me can attest to this and probably share several anecdotes of me losing my temper. I’ve been kicked out of LAN gaming centres for slamming keyboards and mice. I’ve been more than willing to escalate situations to get my point across and I’ve broken more skateboards on purpose than by accident. In retrospect, I’ve always been a reactive person. Something pisses me off and the anthropomorphic personification of Sean’s anger explodes in rage ‒ voices are raised, walls are hit and the way forward is unfortunately set. Relationships have borne the brunt of these traits. Shouting matches have been all too common in the past and in the heat of the moment, it’s hard to soften (metaphorical) blows. These days, I’ve come to realise that the split-second reaction to a nasty situation is truly the Molotov Cocktail on top of a bonfire. Whether it’s an utter miscommunication at work, a taxi driver cussing you out or a young punk looking for a fight, I’ve learnt it’s better to take a step back, analyse the circumstances and find a solution. If you allow the fight-or-flight instinct to kick in before your common sense does, you know you’re on the road to a bitter end. It’s also true that holding your anger in is unhealthy. It has to be expressed somehow. My go-to method for avoiding a heart attack has been the passive-aggressive draft of a tweet. Typing out “I hate (insert grievances here)” and hovering over the Send button while I arbitrate whether or not I sound like an idiot is the outlet for my distress. But while my teeth and sleep may suffer for my hesitation to react, I’m glad that Angry Sean only rears his head in situations that aren’t going to ruin his life forever, like in online gaming. I’ll gladly continue to fail at punching the shadowy man in the dream if it means I can step back every time an aunty exerts her kiasu strength and bulldozes me out of the way.