HER eyes welled up. She burst into tears. She wept unabashedly. She cried copiously...

Try substituting the gender in the above scenarios and you might see some eyebrows raised.

Yes, the mere idea of a chap bawling uncontrollably will make many uncomfortable ... unless of course, there is a good reason for the show of raw emotion.

It is like the general assumption that white men can’t dance. In this case, it is that men generally don’t cry, or rather, are not encouraged to.

You know what, for this very reason, I am glad for being female, and therefore will not be deemed feeble or weak-willed if I am given to some measure of blubbering.
I don’t believe anyone (guys included) should hold back on emotions for appearance’s sake. If the floodgates are begging to be opened, by all means, unlatch!

Though there is great truth in poet Rabindranath Tagore’s words, “if you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars”, I believe tears cleanses one’s eyes and makes you less myopic.

Mind you, though I tend to cry easily, my tears are no croc. I’d sign up as an actress in a heartbeat if I could wail convincingly and on cue but no, fake it, I can’t.

It is amazing how the heart strings are linked to one’s tear ducts. But the latter can indeed be moved to emit a pearly drop or two, thanks to the gamut of emotions evoked by words, smells and incidences, of course.

Not taking into account general catastrophes that would prick at anyone’s conscience and feelings, one’s own experiences and psychological make-up have a lot to do with this.

For instance, why would the demise of one relative affect us more than that of another?

It all boils down to how the deceased had interacted with us during his or her lifetime, I guess.

I remember remaining quite dry-eyed at the funeral of one close relative when everyone else’s peepers were red and puffy.

Lest I came across as cold and unaffected, I tried fervently to squeeze a tear or two to no avail.

I had to resort to a “B-movie” attempt to daub my eyes with a piece of Kleenex but nothing happened. I was quite annoyed with myself because I get a lump in my throat for the slightest reason sometimes (like seeing American Idol wannabes being booted out).

And to think that these youngsters are complete strangers too, among the thousands who walked in for a stab at fame.

Of course, there were plenty of laughs to be had especially when their pitch goes totally off-tangent but their stark disappointment when they failed to impress caustic Simon Cowell can be painful to watch.

At the height of Astro’s Akademi Fantasia craze sometime back, the maternal instincts of many women similarly kicked into high gear as they watched the weekly reality programme.

They got seriously grief-stricken when their favourites got “suitcased” out, having spent hundreds of ringgit on SMS votes to keep them in the show. Man, many tears have indeed flowed under this bridge.

Songs have a way of tugging at one’s memories, transporting one back to a different era.

The tune need not even be melancholic. Tell me, are Korn’s Word Up or Marvin Gaye’s Mercy Mercy Me depressing numbers? But I could spiral into “quite a state” if I allowed myself to!

Yes, we risk embarrassing ourselves with our tears.

I recall watching a tearjerker at the cinema once and coming out with my eyes almost bandaged up. Luckily, the scores of women who were there had the sniffles too!

It might have been understandable if it were a tearjerker of Titanic proportions like Dead Poets Society, Ghost, The Green Mile, Up Close And Personal, The Joy Luck Club and The Mambo Kings.

But it was an action film which saw the hero (with a heart of gold, of course) dying at the end.

No matter. The point here is, it is okay to show a bit of emotion. Evita was a little stone-hearted there when she sang Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina, I thought.

The world would indeed be a better place if more people were to say, Cry Me A River... when you feel like a good sob.