Exit Planet Dust
WARNING: Bitch Alert. If you do not like your blogs bitchy, do not read any further.
Spring cleaning brings out the worst in my Dad.
When he says "try to sort out this stack of papers on your table", he really means "please throw everything on your table away". The beautiful thing is, he doesn't realise this. Yet, when I've cleared the redundant half of things on my table, he'll ask "why haven't you sorted out the things on your table?" It appears that nothingness is the only acceptable form of cleanliness to him.
In my darker moments, I wish I could throw out my bank statements and academic awards together with the trash just to spite him.
Also, for some inexplicable reason, he always imagines that my 'A' level notes have been languishing all over my room since I last used them in 1998. He points to every shelf, asking "are those your A-level notes? Clear them lah! I can understand how sentimental you are about them, but sometimes you must be brave".
No, Dad. Those aren't my A-level notes; they're my NUS notes and readings which take up fifty times the space. They are my computer manuals which are lifesavers even if I rarely use them. They are also my JC and secondary school ECA memorabilia, and my childhood drawings which you have always deemed to precious to discard.
The problem really stems from the fact that my Dad is a man of few possessions who can't relate to my consumption-oriented young adulthood. I won't go into why he's like that, because it would involve telling one side of his life story, and that wouldn't be fair to him. In any case, it's a real pain.
Spring cleaning brings out the worst in my Dad.
When he says "try to sort out this stack of papers on your table", he really means "please throw everything on your table away". The beautiful thing is, he doesn't realise this. Yet, when I've cleared the redundant half of things on my table, he'll ask "why haven't you sorted out the things on your table?" It appears that nothingness is the only acceptable form of cleanliness to him.
In my darker moments, I wish I could throw out my bank statements and academic awards together with the trash just to spite him.
Also, for some inexplicable reason, he always imagines that my 'A' level notes have been languishing all over my room since I last used them in 1998. He points to every shelf, asking "are those your A-level notes? Clear them lah! I can understand how sentimental you are about them, but sometimes you must be brave".
No, Dad. Those aren't my A-level notes; they're my NUS notes and readings which take up fifty times the space. They are my computer manuals which are lifesavers even if I rarely use them. They are also my JC and secondary school ECA memorabilia, and my childhood drawings which you have always deemed to precious to discard.
The problem really stems from the fact that my Dad is a man of few possessions who can't relate to my consumption-oriented young adulthood. I won't go into why he's like that, because it would involve telling one side of his life story, and that wouldn't be fair to him. In any case, it's a real pain.
posted by The Empty Signifier @ 1/19/2005 09:56:00 am
0 comments
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home