Problematic House...

It has been a month since our family moved into our new home and we have somewhat settled down into our daily routine although there has been signs of tension, strain and of course, stress surrounding some of us.

My kid sisters are fitting in fine with the kids from next door. The little boy, it seems, only apparently remembers my name -the one that hardly ever sees or talks to him- and now, his mother is pushing him to remember all five of us. Heck, even she can't remember my sisters' names. It's like, we're fifteen people instead of five.

Sisters aside, it my mom -and now me- who are suffering from the drawbacks of this house. Mom & I kinda got into a small tiff before I headed off for my evening movie with the GB Family. It was pretty much about how I should be getting myself a job and went on about my higher education and my opinion on why we shouldn't have moved because if we didn't, the funds present would be enough for my studies and once I'm away from home, one of my sisters could then migrate to my room so Nini wouldn't have to sleep with my parents anymore.

It was my dad's idea to move and upgrade to a bigger place. Why? I don't know. Male ego, my mom says. I just think he's a first-class jerk. But, that's my opinion. I think we can all agree that the majority of us were happy enough living in our old flat. It had more amenities than this loser of a three-storey house has.

Now, thanks to this house, it has caused my mother endless nights of unrest, fatigue and well, heartburn. We haven't really finished unpacking and the move itself has taken its toll on her. Not that nobody has been helping her, but it's just that the emotional strain is too much.

And it kinda makes you wonder, is this all worth it?

Is the move in efforts to upgrade living space really worth it when you have someone struggling to make ends meet and has to worry each day whether there's food on the table to feed seven mouths?

One night at dinner, my dad remarked that my mom looked a little pale. She was sick the day before and was only recuperating then. She said she was sick because she was stressed but she was keeping it inside.

My dad's response was that he thought he should be the one stressed because he's working and has bills to pay but my mother's argument got the better of him because she was the one not working and yet, she has to fork out money for our daily expenses when she doesn't even have money for herself.

Financial-wise, I don't know where we stand. Everyone knows that this monster of a house is just temporary. When it's got to go, it's got to go. So, I'm thinking, why bother to even move in the first place.

My mom says she never asked my dad to buy a big house; she was happy with our old flat. But, it was my dad's decision to do it and she couldn't very well refuse. And for that, I hate him. Because of his decision, it is affecting the whole family and instead of it being for the better, it is turning from bad to worse.

I see my mom holding out strongly and trying to keep it together for all our sakes and my heart breaks for her. Because I don't know how much longer she can take it before she breaks. Every day, I see her digging her own grave deeper and deeper. Do I think my dad cares how she feels? I think not. Or else, why would he be absurd enough to make her go through this hell on earth?

Some of you might agree that I really need a job. The thing is that, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of leaving the house because I'm afraid that something bad might happen to whoever who's inside the house when I'm not around. I've been the only one who stays in it 24/7 and although nothing has bad has happened so far, I am scared to death that if I go out to work, something would happen. I don't know to who; my mom, Nini, who knows?

My dad thinks I'm a housewife and orders me around like as if I'm one. The way he asks me impertinently, "You don't have clothes to hang? Clothes to fold?" is more than driving me up the wall. I am not Uncle Nazri's maid, and God knows, I fucking do much more than that useless girl. It was only when I pointed that fact out to him that he seemed to back off and there was none of that anymore. I don't mind doing the chores, I really don't. But, don't talk to me as if I'm some kind of servant being employed to keep your house clean & tidy.

My father and I have never gotten along. Well, not ever since I grew up and we just didn't mesh. I rank any male who physically hurts a female regardless of it being accidental or not lower than the dirt from the soles of my pink boots. You do the math.

My mom's friends seem to be taking the news more eagerly than any of us in the family. Mom told me once that her friends were beyond ecstatic when they heard our family was moving. Were they happy for her? Or were they solely happy about the fact that they were friends with someone who actually lives in a private estate?

I had one person ask me just about the stupidest question I've ever heard: So, how's living in a big house?

I always paste a smile upon my face and just give the everything's gravy response. After all, that is expected of me.

Like, what? What the hell, man? It's just a bloody house, for God's sake, it's not big deal. It's concrete with four walls and a couple of rooms, just like other houses. I absolutely abhor it when people think my family & I are rich, which is something we are so not. People ask how does my father do it, being the sole breadwinner but still manage to keep his family above water. Big car, big house, the works.

Really? You think so? If this was how the rich people live, then I'd rather be living next to the dustbin. If someone has to suffer just to portray an image, then I would rather be living the life of a miser.

It's not that I am not thankful with what I have. It's just that, after moving here, I feel like as if our family had to make a pact with the devil and now, he's haunting us to pay our dues. Why should we suffer for luxury? If we don't have it, don't flaunt it.

Yesterday, the rain poured down at about 2.30am in the morning. It was a huge shower, very unexpected and so I proceeded to close our room windows. It was only belatedly that I realized that I didn't know if there were clothes hanging in the backyard that were susceptible to the rain. So, I shook Adlyn up and we both hurried down to the kitchen, stumbling in the dark even though Adlyn insisted we woke Mom up. I refused to because I knew how tired Mom was & I didn't need her to do more work than she already had to. Since I was blind, I couldn't see if there were clothes but my heart sank as Adlyn confirmed that there were indeed, a LOT of clothes.

The rain was already pounding outside, a storm at best. We scurried to the backyard and I had to be the wet guinea pig who literally braved the raging wind and heavy downpour to save our clothes while Adlyn handled hanging them back on the indoor rack. It was in the middle of that fiasco that my mom found us and demanded why we hadn't woken her up. By then, I was already half-drenched & shivering like a drowned rat.

Teeth chattering, I followed Adlyn back up & covered myself with one of our thick blankets for a while, until I stopped shivering and then, went down back again to see if Mom was okay. She was arranging the clothes properly on the rack out of the rain and I was at least glad that she hadn't gotten herself drenched like I did.

Out of the blue, I asked her if the window of Nini & Nuryn's room had been closed and she threw the question back at me. Of course, I said I didn't know and maybe probably not. The icing on the cake when she had made this disparaging sound and proclaimed me useless because by now, my sisters' room would probably be drenched in rainwater.

Fine, so I made that three-storey climb up to my sisters' room and when I got there, surprise, surprise!! The windows were latched shut, not a droplet of water could seep through.

Here I was, drenched to the bone & she makes this unnecessary remark that makes me feel shittier than I already was. It's like, I'm the one who helped bring in the clothes during the storm & nearly sprained my ankle skidding across the wet floor but don't thank me or anything.

So, I just stalked to my room, all wet & bedraggled and suddenly everything came crashing down & it was in times like these that you do the one thing you know.

Cry.

And so I did. Although my nose gave me hell afterwards & my sinuses came back so I don't know if it had been a good idea to put my tears through the whole freefalling routine. Heck, it had been quite a long time since I cried.

Come to think of it, I don't even remember the last time I cried. Last year, perhaps?

Anywayz, Mom came in moments later & asked if I had changed my T-shirt, to which I had sullenly replied a negative because the shirt would dry even after she had pointedly said that it wasn't about whether or not the shirt would dry, but rather whether or not I would fall sick the next day.

Which I did, uncannily enough. Today, I woke feeling chilly & feverish at the same time. And, of course, I looked like crap. Something which Fatin didn't hesitate to point out.

In addition to everything negative I've bitched about this house & my current situation, the most classic one is my toilet bowl seat which came out a few days ago & so now, we're currently seatless. Do you seriously know how it feels on the butt to do that for long periods when you're doing big business while reading a book? Sure, I lift the seat up at public restrooms but, I don't do my big businesses in those restrooms either. Everytime I finished depositing whatever that needed to be deposited, my two buttcheeks felt like they had been split into four.

So, if you really, really came up to me & asked me that impertinent question on how I feel about living in a big house, I think I now have my answer down to a pat.

It feels like fuck.

Laterz...
Lenny Chubby Dean GodGilla Xabs