Zip It!

If I were a fish, I’m pretty sure I would have not made it out of the ranks of small fry in a very brief existence. If I had somehow become a spy, there is no doubt I would have gone the way of Mata Hari, hauled up before a firing squad because my loose lips sank some ships. For I’m someone who is very quick to take the bait, ready to wear my emotions on my sleeve, spill the beans and pour out my heart to an audience.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not one of the new breed of nothing-to-hide types who revel in posting photos of themselves on Facebook tripping the light fantastic, or sexting their carnal fantasies to all and sundry. I don’t Twitter every random emotion or thought process that comes my way, or update my FB status by declaring that the world – which I am the center of, so help me God – is coming to an end because I’m surrounded by a bunch of incompetents.

I admit I’m a pretty conservative sort. I don’t deal well with public displays of affection – when I moved to the land of serial huggers, I would stand awkwardly, arms forming a stiff circle in a flailing attempt to do things right. Pretty open about sexual matters in general, I was not hot and bothered by the Monica Lewinsky or George Michael scandals – we all have our peccadilloes great and small hiding in a closet somewhere. But I find some dangdut singers’ gyrations a little raw for my viewing, and don’t even ask me about Beyonce’s get-up in her energetic performance of “Single Ladies” at the recent MTV Video Awards.

Years ago, when one of the world’s most beautiful models revealed that she had post-pregnancy hemorrhoids, I squirmed, really wishing she had kept that nugget of information to herself. Neither could I stomach watching Farrah Fawcett’s losing battle with cancer, chemotherapy sessions and all, although I admired her bravery for going public.

When I interviewed actress Christine Hakim way back in 1992, she said she couldn’t give up too much of herself to infotainment journalists because she would be “naked” in public (and that was before the gossip media became even more grasping and powerful in stripping their subjects bare). So when I read Krisdayanti’s tell-all autobiography earlier this year – with revelations of crack use, infidelity and an almost pathological need to change herself through plastic surgery – I wondered how the brutal honesty would play in Purwokerto.

Not too well, apparently; while some have praised her openness, (former) fans sent angry letters to various media railing against the singer for revealing her shameful acts to the world.

Still, when it comes to laying bare my own foibles and fantasies, dreams and disasters, come sit by me and I’ll tell you a story. A long story. With digressions and regressions. So please try to look like you are interested.

While I am too afraid of totally offering myself up for judgmental opinions in the public spotlight, that need to reveal, and blabber and blather for good measure, may come from wanting to be accepted, or simply from a feeling of togetherness with the listener, although I have to be honest that at times I have opened up to people with whom I had the most tenuous of relationships.

It also may stem from a total lack of understanding that people around us are taking mental notes of our verbal overspill. But it’s also the way of today’s no-secret-unturned world.

In “The Art of Keeping Your Mouth Shut” in the May 2006 edition of Details, Holly Millea discusses the inner urge for many of us to say something when in fact staying tight-lipped would be a better bet. We try to dig ourselves out of holes by talking our heads off, sharing intimacies and giving unsolicited advice to the unmarried (maybe they’re happy that way), the overweight (they, too, could be quite happy with their girth) or whatever seemingly needy case comes our way.

“People feel they’re entitled to criticize or give advice,” Millea quotes American journalist Sally Quinn as saying. “There’s no formality at all anymore – everyone’s your best friend.”

Millea tells of a male friend who one day told her he could only get involved with a woman who was into anal sex. Later, when she met his new wife, she could not get the revelation out of her mind, and the woman became the butt of the joke dancing in her mind.

“She started talking about global warming, and I went into hysterics,” she writes.

And there is definitely one place where one should never, ever let down one’s guard: The office. Keep it cagey, people. Watch your back, and your words. To reveal too much about yourself at the water cooler or over a ciggie during smoking break is to set oneself up as a sitting target, Millea writes.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you by that less talented, envious dingleberry hanging on your every word, courting your confidence, angling for your job.”

So how to overcome that irrepressible desire to fill in the silences, and have the last word, as well as the first, second and third.

“Be more Asian,” one friend recommends. “Listen and wait until the right moment, and then have your say.”

Another recommends letting someone else get a word in edgewise, for crying out loud. Often invited out for information-seeking lunches by corporations, it’s her strategy to keep her cards close to her chest, turning the questions around on her inquisitors.

“When the other person does the talking, you find out much more about them and what they’re up to.”

Well, I could tell you a story or two about that one. But, for once, I think I’ve said enough already. For now.

+ Broto Dharma

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