Judge and Judge Alike

Forgive me, Father, for I have judged, am judging and will keep on judging. Yes I’m a judgmental-junkie, and I confess that a lot of the time I even judge in my dreams. So don’t waste your time trying to tell me that thou shall not judge a book by its cover. For I do judge it by the cover, by her shoes, by her bags, by his books, even by the hair in his nose, for Metrosexual’s sake!

It was only recently that I realized that my judgmental behavior was so bad. It was a beautiful morning as I sat in the makeup room backstage with some models before a big hair show. No, I’m not a model; I’m just a short bulky woman with a big voice, perfect to be the MC.

I was sipping my coffee when the beautiful porcelain-like mannequin sitting next to me started up a friendly chat. Hey, I recognized her from a fashion documentary somewhere. She was excited to know that I was familiar with her work, especially as she was a newbie from Eastern Europe. It’s easy to remember her with those extremely big eyes, extremely long legs and super-extreme skinny body.

Soon enough she dropped the bomb that makes women like me want to kill women like her; she said she was three months’ pregnant when she was modeling for the documentary project. Let me tell you, there wasn’t an inch of her lustrous body that showed any sign of pregnancy, even at three months.

Next, she told me how the baby came about. Long story short, it was love at first sight; she was the Barbie and he was the Ken at a bridal show. Their stage kiss continued once the show was over, backstage and during their first date. He didn’t speak much English, being able to say only “I like you” as she replied “I like you, too” on their second date when they slept together.  After two weeks of courtship and sex, she went back to Europe and he got down to a speedy English proficiency course. On that European trip, she found out she was pregnant. She called to surprise him with the news, and he replied, “Come back, we make baby.” So she came back to Indonesia, they got married, the baby arrived, there were lots of fights according to her and a lot of makeup sex.

I totally wished my mind would have just stopped at “I wish them the best! Nothing but happiness and hope you’ll both be Indonesia’s next top models!” Yet this wicked mind of mine couldn’t stop fondling so many judging thoughts. In my defense, maybe if they weren’t models I wouldn’t write them off as airheads who were dumb enough to tie the knot after a full two weeks of knowing each other and an unplanned pregnancy. Maybe if I was more open-minded than my Christian background would allow, I would cheer along with her at having unprotected sex with a man she hardly knew. Maybe if I was Western-educated, I would totally understand what to me is an unreasonable decision of having a baby much the same way one picks up a tub of margarine at the grocery store.

But I’m not. So I can’t help wondering what the hell was going on in her head. At that moment, I totally felt like giving her a smack across the head. Then her husband came along. Maybe, just maybe, if he wasn’t quite so gay-ish the “sure looks like a bisexual” bells would not have gone off in my head.

So there – I can’t stop judging people, and this incident was just one very small example of my daily judging pleasure. I’ve been trying to figure out where this whole mind drama came from. Maybe it’s the result of my previous job, in which I got paid good money to sit and judge wannabes stars in a magic talent search and singing competition. No, most of the time I didn’t feel guilty at all about being honest to the point where my razor-sharp criticism hurt others. To be honest, I can’t totally blame my professional background; perhaps it stirred something up inside of me, but it was there all along. And to be honest, I think it’s in most of us.

Growing up, I was fed the words of wisdom “Don’t judge if you don’t want to be judged.” Now I’m convinced that idea in itself is inhumane. Some inhumane thoughts you conquer through practice and discipline, like doing good to others. But this one I doubt can fully overcome.

I’m curious to know what Gandhi was thinking when he smiled beatifically at the enemy. Was he actually thinking, “You don’t look like much of a mean bastard in those silly pants, fool”? Or was Mother Theresa muttering to herself, “What kind of wench would have the heart to abandon her children?” as she picked up the dead bodies of kids on the streets of Calcutta? Closer to our own reality, how do we Indonesians judge as we watch the recent shenanigans of corruption in all its various forms in daily TV news reports? To me, our combined inner thoughts echo through the universe: The source of every man’s success, and failure, is the woman behind him.

Again, forgive me for I have judged and will continue happily to do so. But please feel free to judge me. Deep down, I hope that the model couple’s union will last longer than the tenure of the current government. And I also hope I am wrong about that very same government, which, for the most part, I consider a group of gentlemen more afraid of their wives and mistresses than God and their constituents. There I go again.

+ Melissa Karim

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