Plastic

I have no qualms about being called plastic, as long as it's not the only one thing defining my whole being. Everyone, and I do believe, every single one of us, has a bit of plastic in us, and anyone who denies it is a bleeding hypocrite. Nothing makes me laugh more than righteous beings, them "simple and sweet" girls who abhorr plastic people, crucify us, as if the mere act of labelling us as such (behind our backs even!) does not show even a tinge of fakeness.

Plasticity is such a useful tool, wether it be exchanging phony smiles with your ex's current flame, or throwing sugary praises over your boss' hideous electric blue pleather pants at the office party.As I've written before, I'm not really the confrontational type, so if an issue does not warrant a full scale cat fight, I would rather shot my enemies a venomous smile, and let them stew in their own juices. Kill them with loads of niceness screaming of a Divisoria Louis Vuitton bag. Having that plastic in you allows you to stomach making beso and suffering inane small talk with people you'd rather get sucked by a tsunami.

It takes talent, a certain amount of patience, and just the right blase expression with a dash of Equal-like friendliness. Years of practice, a sharp lait vocabulary and a tight posse of equally plastic yet loyal chums makes for a great plastikadora.

But being plastic must also be in place, one need not be such a sly queen at all times. Plasticity chooses certain occasions to show itself, and one must choose well, otherwise you'd just be labelled a two-faced bitch. It's more like adapting to the situatin, being a chameleon with the garceful ability to change colors to suit your surroundings in order to survive. Yes, survival. In this highly cmpetitive society where the meek are eaten alive for breakfast, we plastics saw the advantages of giving the imprssion that yes, we are going with the flow...but with a scheme or two up our sleeves.

Ironically, to be someone well-versed in the art of plasticity, you must know, and be true to thyself. All those faking and feigning might take toll on your mind, and you would lose sight of who you really are, what is it taht you really want.. Lines of loyalty might blur, and suddenly you don't know whose team you're pitching for anymore. It happens that life seems so much easier wearing that mask, it becomes so hard to take it off anymore.

At the end of the day, after all those projecting and masquerading with the common folks, you should be able to come home look at yourself in the mirror, and know the person staring right back at you.

And sometimes, that is the hardest part of being one.