Sunday, September 11, 2011
my bathroom
There is a reason why I love, or even need to have a space of my own. I love my bathroom so much because (for the most part) I'm the only one who uses it and it's definitely one of the places I go to when I'm at home and need to cry. I cry when I'm lying on my bed too but then my nose and throat gets all choked up and I start to feel like I can't breathe. Before I start sobbing out loud and waking up my sister (this is before she moved overseas) or alarming people walking by, I always make a quick escape to my bathroom. I shut the door, lock it, sit on the floor/toiletbowl and let it all out. I'm not really sure why, but the door blocks out sounds really well so you'd have to be a little loud or near the door to be able to hear what's going on inside/outside. Which is fine by me because no one would get to hear me sob and sniffle.
My mum thinks I am lazy. She uses my deck to justify her opinion - it is messy and I always don't bother to tidy it up. She says it is evidence that I hate doing housework, which also further proves that I am lazy.
But that's not it. It's not because I'm lazy (okay, maybe a little bit). It's not that I hate doing housework, I do like it. I'm not spoilt, I lack initiative. We have a maid at home, which is why I don't take the initiative to do housework (not like anyone else does it anyway, my parents love to preach what they don't practice, ha). But I will gladly rise to the occasion when I have to. If I had a place of my own, I would really keep it neat and tidy. And when I say "a place of my own", I mean really a place that I feel is mine and only mine.
It wouldn't work if I had to share it with someone else, because then I would feel like I'm not the only one who is entitled to it. Maybe it sounds selfish, caring for something only because it is your own, but isn't that what many people do? I believe the day that I work to maintain a place that I share with someone else will come, but only under two scenarios: 1) the person does his/her fair share of maintaining the place, so I will do my part too and 2) I really care about the person a lot. Yes, that is the level required for me to be selfless. And yes, that means I really don't care enough about my family (and although I get guilty, most of the time I don't care).
The need to have something that is solely mine is a little possessive, I admit. Sadly, that's the way I function.
When I was in school and an Exco member, I loved fulfilling the needs of the job. However, it was also a position with (some) authority and as it always is with positions/authority, there will always be responsibility. (Spiderman's Uncle Ben says, "With great power comes great responsibility.") It was this responsibility, this requirement of meeting the expectations of others (which causes another expectation - an expectation of self to meet, achieve, and own what is expected of you) that caused me to stress out. When I fail to do something right, it kills me most if someone gets disappointed or their expectations aren't met. I do not work well with other people watching - I flounder. At least if I am alone in something, I know I'm not disappointing anyone but myself. That is easier to get over.
The deck is a lovely place and I do like it, and although it is a place filled with things that are mine and mine alone, I've never felt very attached to it. It's an open place, which means it doesn't make me feel protected from the outside world and doesn't allow me to revel in my own company without people crossing by. The only time I can remember of that I could forgo this disinclination was after my second break-up, when I was too numb and sad to care. I sat there, crying in front of my laptop. Even then, I took great care to quickly wipe my tears away whenever I heard someone coming up and control myself to not cry too much in case someone comes up and speaks to me and hears how throaty my voice is (obviously from crying).
My lack of attachment to the deck is also due largely to the fact that I didn't decorate it. My mum did it (on her own accord, I never told her to). I had things in a certain way, but one day I came home and everything got shifted around. Secretly I was unhappy because I preferred the way things were before, although I didn't say anything to her. I did what I had control over - where to put the things I had. And that's it. If I can't have control over what I want a place to be like, it would never feel truly whole and mine.
It is just a bathroom, but it is my bathroom... I will miss it when I (inevitably) move.
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