Ballbust Desires: Angy Wong (Blog Post 2009)

[dvhour (Site Owner)]

U can skip to all the ballbusting in bold, but the story is pretty good.

Generally, I am against violence of all kinds. Most of the time, I cannot even watch films with too much violence as it usually results in me plugging my ears and squeezing my eyes shut. My disdain for violence is a combination of my own fear of physical pain, my belief that there has to be another way to resolve a dispute, and being too empathetic to the point that I would envision myself as the one receiving the harm when I watch it being afflicted on others. There have been many times where I would grab my arm, chest, leg, etc. because those were the areas that were being mutilated on screen. Yes, I try to avoid violence of all kinds and when someone asks, “what would I do when placed in a dangerous situation such as those depicted on television?” I always answer, “I would run and hide.”

Despite being against violence, there are rare moments when I do fantasize about beating someone to a pulp. More specifically, beating a male between the ages of 17-30 who also happens to be your typical ignorant, red neck, rude, crude, chauvinistic male who feels a sense of entitlement that is not deserved. This desire to cause as much physical pain as I can to a person was triggered by two bus rides a couple of weeks ago.

The first instance was two Thrusdays ago when I was taking the #135 bus home. I was coming home from work and visiting my sister at Mexx. I was tired. It was freezing cold. All I wanted to do was to get back to my nice warm house. I get on the bus and sit in the seat directly in front of the back doors (since it was the shortest distance to the door) and as I was sitting contently and listening to my mp3 player, two teenagers who could not be older than 17 walk past me and shout in my face obnoxiously, “do you believe in pirates?!” They laughed and walked to the back of the bus. I said nothing and wanted to avoid these imbeciles as they were clearly stoned and drunk off their minds.

Well, the whole time on the bus ride, they were loud and obnoxious and people kept turning back to stare at them. I tried to ignore them but once again, they were right in front of me, waiting to get off the bus. The whole time while they stood in front of me I thought about what I would do if they tried to attack me. I knew that there were quite a few big men sitting near me and that they would more than likely defend me but I think I would want the satisfaction of defending myself. I imagined kicking them in balls and as they bend over in pain, I would knee them in the chin. Once they’ve fallen to the ground, I would kick them until I had no energy left while they apologized profusely and begged me to stop. So for the twenty minutes until those two guys got off the bus, I spent my time thinking of scenarios that declared me the victor in an onslaught in which they never stood a chance of winning.

A week later, I found myself fantasizing about the same scenario while bussing all the way to Fort Langley to surprise my boyfriend. It was a three hour trip and I had to take the skytrain from Burrard Station all the way to Surrey Central to catch a bus. I rationalized that since I was going to be on the train longer than most people, I deserved a seat though I didn’t get one until Metrowtown Station. Once we stopped at that particular station, I immediately rushed for a vacant seat and accidentally stepped on someone’s foot. I apologized before sitting down. The guy who’s foot I stepped on looked like he was in his late 20s, had a overgrown goatee and was dressed in jeans, oversized boots and a tan bomber jacket. He ended up sitting in front of me with his friend who looked equally as dirty. He turned back and said, “Bitch, don’t push.” He then proceeded to talk loudly to his friends about “bitches” on buses.

I ignored his comment by appearing as if I was too engaged in my book to care about what he had to say, but as soon as he said those words, my fantasies of afflicting violence came back. The whole time while watching the back of his head, I thought about hitting him in the head with one of my 2L bottles of soda, while swinging at his crotch with my other bottle. I imagined what it would be like to kick and punch him while screaming, “I apologized! I’ve been bussing for two hours and have three bags in my hands and I deserved this seat! I’m not bitch, you ass!” The fantasies were satisfying in a way even though I knew I could never commit such heinous actions.

Even though I had spent 20-30 minutes daydreaming what it would be like to pummel the man in front of me, I also spent part of the time hoping that he would not get off at the same stop as I because I did not want him to give me any sort of evil glare or make any more snide comments. I knew that if he did, I would say nothing and simply go a different direction as him – and this fact brought me back to reality and made me feel rather pathetic and cowardly. It’s one thing thinking of defending myself, it’s another knowing that the chances of me doing so is slim to none.

I think my thoughts of afflicting violence on men might be a result of feeling physically powerless especially if I were attacked. I’m not a strong woman and definitely not the fittest either. If someone came after me, I know I would put a fight but it probably wouldn’t be a good one – and this gets to me. It bothers me that guys like those I encountered on the bus are able to spew profanities at me, and all I do in return is try to keep quiet in order to avoid more trouble. I wish I was one of those girls that would not take their insults so lightly and retaliate even just a bit. Yet, my fear of potential confrontations that may escalate into physical bouts gets the better of me. Perhaps once my New Year’s resolution of getting in shape is completed, my perspective on the whole beating-up-rude-strangers-on-the-bus and feeling weak will change, though I have a feeling that I may still get some satisfaction from just the mere idea of kicking someone in the nuts for being unceremoniously rude to me.