Rule with your head, not your pride.

There is something about being an air stewardess or a model that make women very proud in Singapore. They get club passes, free entry, and most elite reservation in social events that even a prestigious university alumni can’t pull off. These kind of privileges are very much coveted. Men think you are a goddess. Women think you are a doll. With a social stigma like that, any pride is well deserved to flaunt beauty than brains.

I spent three years in college scoping the brains of genius architects to discover the meaning of pride in Frank Gehry, a Deconstructive “starchitect”. He designs building from a crushed vending machine coffee cup. His toys weren’t Lego. He grew up in his dad’s hardware store playing with corrugated steel, plates and bolts. His signature paper architecture became quite a sensation to accolade him the esteem of a celebrity architect years later.

When I saw his early concepts, sketching and modeling. I was held in stunned reverence. This guy is brilliant. I felt pride welling inside me. To be able to see what drive and make him, I can hardly contain my impetus to write. His work inspires and mystifies. I am proud, proud of his poetic structures; proud to share his love of forms; proud that he weaves magic into science.

Never have I thought pride is an emotion. I have always thought pride is a byproduct of success. Not unlike that of stewardesses and models who take pride in their beautiful faces and body forms. However, I found my pride rousing on someone else’s making of a dream come true.

To honor that, I take delight in mindful expedition to chaotically explore and conquer. My fascination? I want to feel the rush. The urgency of what he wants me to see. And when I do make a splendid unravelment, I wish someone would take pride in me. And make it his or her aspiration to dream.

On many occasions during an alumni get-together, when wives or girlfriends (WOG) find themselves increasingly left out from discursive discourse not quite applicable to cabin politics or catwalk sashays, we hear a jabber of “we models” or “us cabin crew” flaunting a glamour twirl. But to no avail. Their pride soon turned into a menacing stench of inferiority complex, when conversation made its way back into mainstream masculine faculty.

My contention: our source of pride, if it is externally infused, make it work for you. If it is internal, like in the context of self adulation, never stop short to learn. Because glory is made largely of appreciation and assimilation. We take pride in each other’s achievement to make our own glory. The best part is, what we are today is what another has made us do yesterday. So go out there and find your credo. Manual not included.