Yesterday was meant to be the start of a glorious self-proclaimed, much needed holiday and what do I do on my self-proclaimed holiday?
I work until I am immersed it in. A bomb could go off nearby and my sole concern would be to click the 'save as' button or to power up my lappy. I nearly missed my flight.
I sauntered into the departure lounge wondering where everybody was. Doh, they're already in the plane.
Once I touch down into Kuching, things seemed better. Less frazzled. It is good to be home. My brother, he's very cest la vie and that's good... for me. My mum is less worried about deadlines and more worried about the orange smear of pigeon poop that found its mark on the windscreen just as we shut the doors. My brother thinks the pigeon had pepperoni for dinner.
My dad tells me I need to eat more fibre. He says that everytime we sit at the table after dinner as he takes out a large orange and I shake my head. Everytime. He tells me that the white stuff on the orange segments is what I need. Why get in from the pharmacy at RM2 a tab when you can eat the whole orange for 50 cents? He doesn't believe in my mathematical ability. That's fine. I don't think I have much to believe in. I can score the lowest in class in maths tonight and I won't care; I'm home.
I do nothing... except send a few emails. A few work-related emails. It's a habit. I'm a workaholic. I'll work til I croak which I would have done had I not taken this break.
I am enjoying things that people do on holidays; 'do nothing' things. Like flipping through old photographs and eating Maggie Mee after midnight. My mum, she's very organised. Arranges the veggies according to colour variation and has them washed and cut up nicely. There was a time when she wasn't so organised and she could hide her After Eight mints in the bush of veg. But we always found them; my sister and I. The secret chocs were always in one of 2 places; the vegetable drawer or the Tupperware cupboard. Mums need to be more creative. I hid my diary, wrapped in plastic, behind the doghouse, in the soil. It got tedious after a while.
I am vain :)
I used to be such a charmer... SO pretty in my smocking and frills and socks pulled up to my knee... up til the age of 10. I even looked pretty in neon pink aerobics tights which I matched with a green T-shirt. Then it kind of went downhill from there.
Between the three siblings, we have about 2 good photos between us on full-view display. The rest, we hide behind other nick-knacks Grandma stuffed into the cabinet.
Even now as I go up to my bed - no bed before or after it has come close to holding the title my bed - I know it is time to pass it on. When I'm not home, it's my brother's bed so everytime I come home, he gets kicked out of his bed. The irony. It might mean that if I choose to work here, I may still not be home in the end. I cannot take away my brother's bed perpetually just because I don't have the means to identify a new one.
It's almost one. Dad went to bed at 10. If I don't go up soon, he'll come down and say, "Hey, remember to go to bed ya?" He always does that. We're habitual people, albeit our habits differ from person to person.