Youth
Perched on a low wall outside the LRT station waiting for my ride, my attention was snagged idly by a lanky typical Chinese-Malaysian youth getting out of his car - spiked blonde-streaked hair with a carefully untidy long fringe swept over his left eye, his movements oozing an air of painstakingly careful carelessness, cheekbones chiseled like granite, clad in artfully disarrayed all-black with immaculately sloppy trousers, and the essential teenage mask of perpetual half-lidded boredom etched across his carefully dispassionate countenance. He gracefully extracted himself from the backseat, gave a dutifully energetic wave to what were presumably his parents, shut the door and, bending in a filial, respectful bow, lifted his hand once again in a smart salute. Turning around, he jogged purposefully into the station, and the car pulled away, evidently satisfied with the boy's pristine Good-Son performance.
Not twenty seconds later, the boy emerged from the station, stuck his hand into his pocket, extracted a cigarette and proceeded to smoke it, his half-lidded eyes darting in the direction of his car's exeunt.
As he blew smoke into my direction, slimily eyeing a small group of typical Chinese-Malaysian girls chattering near him, I could not help but perceive this youth as the Quintessential Stereotyped Teenager. Those chiseled features, the dyed spikes, the lanky frame, the Asian colouring - all variables in a nonetheless constant equation of careful carelessness, immaculate untidiness, the painstaking veneer of practiced boredom. As I continued to regard him, it occurred to me that he was - is - both the culmination and source of teenage stereotype.
On reflection, I suppose, my scrutiny was rampantly intense. He must have thought I was checking him out.
Teenagers.