Alright I don’t think I can continue writing about home (in Chinese!) beyond Post 5 because the novelty of coming home is beginning to wear off, and I am also running out of ideas. A lot of things (which are already not terribly interesting to an outsider) become much worse when I talk about them in a language I hardly think in. Sometimes I wish I was more critical and less dreamy and more practical…definitely more sociable and confident and more in touch with the world. I wish I would blank out less. When someone asked me if I stayed in Taman Malaysia the other day, I had to think for 5 whole minutes before I could remember the various neighbourhoods in my area.
So. It’s the fourth day my sister is away at school now, and although this is extremely conducive for my work – I finished off my summer school assignments, home is odd without her to put her arms around me or rub my tummy. (Well she thinks I’m lovable because I’m round, and I laugh really loudly – both traits make my mum cringe.) The new quirks I learn about my sister everyday sometimes floor me: how crazy she is about cabbage, how neat she is (compared to me), how she likes singing I wanna be a billionaire by McCoy…how much she likes us to get involved in her life. Apparently she was also singing Jasmine Yow is coming to town every day prior to my arrival at home. When you think about it, it’s really funny.
Helping out at home on the other hand, has turned out quite different from what my idealistic mind thought it would be. Case in point: my mother did not smile down on me like I was santa’s expert elf. I had forgotten that helping out involved standing around and waiting for instructions quite helplessly, or if I shuffled back to my own work, being disrupted from my own work to lift heavy objects, wrap a present, keep containers, just little niggling things that keep popping up! Oh, it also involved me trying to figure out how to connect existing diagonal tiling patterns made with 13″ tiles using 12″ tiles, and getting all frustrated over my old version of Illustrator producing a poor draft of our floor plan while my parents argued over tiling patterns. I also cannot believe I have forgotten how much I dislike scraping paint off damaged walls. I now have a renewed respect for construction workers. Geez.
There’s just so much going on in the house in the day that I resorted to doing my writing projects at night last week, when anxious chatter (mostly coming from mum towards the maid who can’t seem to follow instructions) finally ceases. Each time my maid makes a horrible mistake? I start to think how I can extend my travelling plans in January.
Amidst everything that’s going on, watching Leverage episodes and reading Jodi Picoult’s House Rules provides much welcome entertainment and relief. Well I was going to write about the book, but my words have taken me down another path.