Some people would have indulged themselves in work. Some others would have retreated to alcohol and drugs.
But me, being a homebound, geek, non-profit paycheck slave that I am, chose to lock myself inside the room all day watching films. It’s not as productive, it doesn’t cost as much either. Plus nobody I’ve heard ever dies of movie overdose.
My discount escapism. Beats slashing my arm with nail-clipper’s blade any other day.
I admire mom. She’s stronger than we give her credit for. After all the emotional torture my dad’s sister has given her, that contributed to her epilepsy, that made her swallow pills every day for the rest of her life, that caused frequent loss of consciousness at work, in the kitchen, in the long bus ride from Mentakab to KL. Even after all that, she still find it in her heart to forgive.
She had real drama to deal with. A person like my mom who never done any harm to anybody, who speaks no words of ill about anyone, whose life and entire universe only consist of being a clerk and a housewife. A person like her, still has to deal with a bitch that is my dad’s sister. My mom has done no wrong.
Then here I am, sitting across my monitor screen, drinking my full cream milk. I have a steady job, good friends, and no commitments. Yet I am shattered upon the slightest strain in human relationship.
Why am I so fragile, mom. Why am I the only one in our family who cries too much.
Man why am I even writing about this. I should go back to my movies.