This is one of my emo-emo post which you have the right to remain silent or risk getting tiu if you say the wrong thing, ok? But usually, I am very nice lah, I only ‘suan’ a bit only. (suan in Hokkien means sarcastic or perli)
So…I have been blogging since October 2004. That means, I will be blogging for five long years. Gee, I never have any steady boyfriend that lasts for five years. I also never keep any female best friends for more than five years. The only things that last longer than five years are my marriage because it is legally binding, my kids because it is blood ties and my current apartment because I cannot find a more convenient place to stay. And Jackie Cheung because his songs always suit the emo mood.
In October 2004, I wrote something call ‘Making Love with the mop and broom‘.
Yikes!!! I just realised that I am holding the hand(les) of the mop, broom and dustpan more than the hand of my man! Each night, these will be the last thing I do, each morning, these are the things that I look for. Throughout the day, I am also close to them. What is becoming of me???!!! Am I bordering on getting obssessive compulsive behaviour? I hope not.
OK, I am not such a neat person. I have a part-time helper to do the ‘real’ chores. But for a lazy bones like me, I realised that this is not healthy…. Oh no…. I musn’t domesticate myself so much. I am losing it. But one cannot help it when one have 4 kids who make constant mess, stains, spills, puddles…. So, I ended up making love with the mop, broom and dustpan or else the ants will come marching in one by one (oh dear, I am hearing the Barney song in my brains) and my lil baby will get so many ants’ bites. So many tiny red dots that I am beginning to feel ashame of myself when I bring him out.
So, how does a woman balance the domesticate front and the ‘I want to be an independent woman!’ role? I don’t want to live with brooms and mops! I don’t want to get intimate with sticks like these. This is so un-me. This is so un-cool. But… this is so necessary.
Darn, am I suppose to keep on blogging till I am dead? Where do I stop? When do I stop? And why should I stop? Five years from now, will I be musing over the stuffs I do today? What will I be doing in five years time? Let’s see…I am not even fifty in five years time.
That means, I cannot withdraw my EPF and run away to the Swiss alps because I can only withdraw them when I reach fifty years old. So, no chance of toyboys and Swiss alps.
Five years from now, my little boy will be 11 years old. I cannot cuddle him on my lap anymore or tease him that I am going to breastfeed his Gingee. (which in case you do not know is his soft toy the gingerbread man, ok?)
Life. Why bother so much? Jesus said, “Why worry? You cannot even change a single hair to white.” Or something like that lah.