Abong Brian: Feeling some type of way


Generalisations, the scourge that plagues the minds of many people. See, even that statement itself is a generalisation. I personally disagree with the notion that one, or 100 people is big enough a sample size to draw conclusions on character, appearance etc. Heck, give me a big enough sample size and I’ll still argue that there is an exception somewhere, even if it’s one person.

People, in my opinion are just too unique to be classified by general social structures such as tribe, country, race, literacy or residence. Stereotyping as they call it. It’s however this belief that has made answering one of life’s commonest and perhaps most important questions difficult for me. That question is, what is your type?

See, whenever this question comes up, a leg is either close or being planned for and advise being sought. It’s common because, well, who doesn’t want some pussy every now and then. Also, for some reason, that question has appeared more often than some that I’ve studied for.

How important is that question you say? Well, a correct answer and or identification of one’s type is like knowing your blood type. In both cases, they ease the act of transfusion. For one who has a type, the search for a mate becomes less of a gamble, and more of a “skinny chics are always at the beach” situation.

I on the other hand try my best not to generalise in as many aspects of life as I can. I have friends from different religious backgrounds, countries and character. I look back at the ladies I’ve been with and they are as diverse as what makes up the atmospheres of planets in the Milky Way galaxy. OK, maybe not that diverse. But they’ve been tall, short, light, dark, skinny, chubby, heavy, dimpled, bald, screamers, moaners, criers, you name it. It’s this history that leads to my default reply, “I have no type”. I then usually either get a look of disbelief or further convincing that we all have a type. Others go further and call me a male whore or just a desperate chap. To those I raise my imposing middle finger.

Anyway, good news is I think I’ve found my type. A recent visit home helped me get to this conclusion. And no, it’s not like I met the one. I met the usual variety of ladies, most sharing just their gender in common. They however all lit up whenever I said something silly, which was quite often. Talking to me seemed like enough, and they all for some reason liked me. So there we have it, my type is ladies who like me, and I don’t mean on Facebook.

| Abong Brian

Picture of the day

Reagan and I leaving a conference hall after a work PR event. It was a long day which had come to an end. The cocktails we had in the gardens later that day couldn’t have come at a better time.