Astrid Savitri

I have absolutely no control over my tear ducts. They start overflowing at least provocation. Sometimes it will be one of those kitten-with-a-sore-paw stories in the paper. Newly pregnant friends always get soggy shoulder along with my congratulation. And once, I even cried during a tea bag ad when a wife handing her husband a cup of tea and they fixed the communication between them. I guess I’m just a sentimental fool.

In fact I’m feeling out of sorts, I actively indulge my lachrymose tendencies. At the moment my tear jerker du jour is make over home edition on TV. The program makers find deserving family (usually those with a huge brood of whey-faced moppets to feed) and build them their dream home. I started crying as the camera pans over their dire living situation. By the time they showing them new bedroom because they’re been sleeping on a dirty mattress for years, my bottom lip is wobbling like a kite on windy day.

But it’s not just blatant attempts to push my buttons that have me wailing into a Paseo. I cry when I get angry, frustrated or when someone doing me wrong. And it’s those tear that are the bane of my life. My professional cry-babydom reached its nadir when I had a meeting with my boss during a hairy work situation and burst into tears as soon as she walked into the room. Not surprisingly, she was suitably scathing as she handed me some tissues because nothing guarantees to weaken your power base more when you’re in the middle of a dispute than shuddering with sobs. Yup, tears are equivalent of having ‘loser’ tattooed on your forehead.

The big problem of crying, apart from the havoc it wreaks on your contacts, is that it’s uncool. Especially as I can’t cry prettily with a single tear gently roll down of my cheek. My face goes red, my mouth becomes gasping maw and there’s truckload of snot involved, while I rub my eyes and say ‘I don’t know what the matter is with me. I almost never cry”

I think we’ve established that all someone has to do is give me a funny look and I’ll cry on cue. The strange things is, when tragedy comes calling I remain resolutely dry-eyed. After my dad died, I was so busy doing this and that which it took a week for me to break down and sob out all my pain and loss, and that only happen because I’d misplaced my keys. Maybe that’s why I cry so much the other 99 per cent of the time –- I’m getting rid of all tears that I can’t shed when simply getting through the day takes all my emotional strength.