The Second Quadrant

The Johari Window, a popular fill-in-the-blanks psychological tool that over-paid shrinks use to kill time with their patients. I’m going to talk about the Johari Window today. I’m not sure why (actually I do, but for the effect of an introductory suspense knowing now that people actually read this hogwash, I’m saying ‘I’m not sure why’ for effect), but I figured that it will give this entry a different feel, instead of the typical, almost predictable sentimental outpour.

Although the Johari Window was originally designed to describe interpersonal interactions, I found it to be a very useful model for teaching my students the multi-dimensional concept of the self-image. In my interpretation, the Johari Window is made up of four quadrants. The first, describes the subjects’ open self-image that is known to both themselves and known to others. The second, describes the self-image that the subject is clueless about, although these are the same attributes that invite extensive bitching from so-called friends. The third describes the residual revelations after long sleepless nights spent starring into the void introspecting. The last which makes little sense, would have served more purpose if it was called the chocolate pudding. Therefore, for the purpose of this blog, I’m calling the last quadrant, the chocolate pudding.

If you have not figured out by now, I’m really not serious about dedicating this entry to the Johari Window. But there is some relevance here. I was on MSN earlier today catching up with a long lost friend, one that go way back to the days where you need to raise your hand to ask for permission to use the toilet. 15 years it has been and it is amazing how people remember you for the most embarrassing things you did such as confessing to be infatuated with the girl in class with shoulder-length hair. The conversation we had opened the Pandora box of repressed memories and skeletons came out to play as if it was Halloween. They were revelations about me that I have been oblivious to, and stories which I starred as the main villain in a script more commonly found in a poor soap opera. It all came in place like the second quadrant of the Johari Window gone wrong; it is like watching yourself being personified over oil on canvas by the hand of Picasso with Parkinsons.

I knew that I was a bit of an arrogant twit when I was about 8 yrs old, but little did I know that I was branded a prancing peacock with a feathery brain. I was horror-struck, dumbfounded, flabbergasted when it was revealed that I had a hand to play in getting a female classmate slapped in class. I have no recollection of this event, except a strange churning feeling in my gut which suggests that it may indeed have occurred more than a decade ago. Me appropriating violence on a member of the opposite gender? Never! Well, there was this time where I kicked Elaine in the face during a martial arts tournament, upon which she complained to my ex who later broke up with me. Okey, it didn’t happen that way in that sequence, but it would have made a good story. Anyway, me appropriating violence on a girl? Never! I only remember that I developed a certain phobia for girls by the age of ten, partially due to a childhood scar of being made to cry by a girl when I was eight and later to learn that girls are like some unfathomable entity designed by mother nature to give ten-year old boys a hard time. I left for a boy’s school straight after that.

Interestingly, tomorrow will be the first gathering with my primary school mates after more than 15 years. Initially, I was excited over the prospect of making ‘new’ friends without having to go through the charade of an ice breaker. But alas, now knowing that I will be walking into dinner with preconceptions placed over my shoulders, some which I am quite unaware of, I’m actually anxious over the ordeal. Fascinating sensation, anxiety is. I’ve not felt this way since high school prom, when I was late to pick up my Indonesian date who struggled to chain two sentences of English together. She was cute though. Anyway….. yes, tomorrow. There is an angelic persona somewhere inside me, which perhaps may be more fitting at a reunion with four lovely ladies, but that will probably take too much effort to conjure and sustain. It is probably easier to be my regular happy-go-lucky self, but that will probably further endorse the label of a prancing peacock. This is getting increasingly frustrating, it is like venturing on a blind date with nothing to wear save poker-dotted boxers.

Take a pinch of salt. It ain’t that bad. I love reunions. Despite the less than virtuous reputation I’ve maintained during my childhood, tomorrow may be an opportunity to show that I’ve changed;…. … I used to be an arrogant vertically challenged loudmouth, now I’m just an obnoxious vertically challenged loudmouth.