I am a good person. At least I think so. I always believe in the good in people. I have faith in a person’s goodness until he proves otherwise. I think I’m kind. I think I’m compassionate. I think I’m helpful. I mean, unlike some people, I wanted to become a diplomat because I actually, genuinely, sincerely, honestly believe in peace and that I had something to contribute to promote it. I donate to charity twice a year. I stand by my friends. I make sure things are fair as far as I could. I like goodwill. So yeah, I think I’m a good person.
Usually, that is.
Sometimes, I question it. There have been a few occasions where I doubted my goodness. I mean really doubted it. They say we all have an evil bone inside of us. And now, the following few posts are some incidents in which I felt that it was the only bone I have left.
I moved in to my condo building more than a year ago. In my first few months living here, there was a particular guard stationed at the entrance of our tower who always blocked me from entering, asking for my ID and the my unit number. In the first several days, I let it go. After all, it was normal. But then, months into my contract, he still continued doing it and it had become the most annoying thing. It’s also the way he would talk to me, usually with a condescending, almost accusatory tone and without an ounce of courtesy, as though I’m out to steal from the tenants or something.
One night, I was supposed to meet Shy Guy. It was our seventh monthsary and I asked him to accompany me to Boni High Street for I needed to claim something important and work-related. We decided to meet at Shangri-La Plaza and then proceed to the Fort. The funny thing was, I forgot my claim stub at home and I wouldn’t get the document I needed without it. It ruined my mood. I had to go back to our unit to get it.
Pissed for the time and energy wasted, I went back only to be blocked by the same guard. So I snapped. I yelled at him, as in really yelled at him. “OH MY GOD!!! HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU HAVE TO ASK FOR MY ID AND MY ROOM NUMBER?!?!?! I’VE BEEN LIVING HERE FOR THREE MONTHS NOW AND EVERY FREAKIN’ DAY FOR THREE MONTHS YOU’D ASK FOR THEM!!! HOW LONG SHOULD IT TAKE YOU TO RECOGNIZE MY PIMPLY FACE?!? I MEAN, ISN’T THAT PART OF YOUR JOB? REMEMBER FACES? SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO INCONVENIENCE TENANTS EVERY SINGLE TIME WE COME HOME?!?!”
It was the last time I was asked for my ID. That guard treated me politely since then. But every time I see him, I feel guilty for the things I said to him. I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I shouldn’t have embarrassed him. I shouldn’t have threatened him.
I felt incredibly guilty that whenever I see him, I greet him with a smile.