Fussy me

    I suppose I’m really fussy. Hard to please. Easily annoyed. The whole package. I keep thinking about moving out whenever Sister Can’t-Stop-Talking-And-It-Has-To-Be-So-Loud-The-Whole-World-Can-Hear-Her gets on my nerves. And that’s almost all the time. When she’s complacent enough to leave me alone, the others fill in for her. There’s Baby Annoys-The-Hell-Out-Of-Me-With-Non-Stop-Wailing-Devil-Spawn, there’s also Maid Laughs-Like-A-Hyena-Talks-Louder-Than-Sister-If-That’s-Possible. Only dear Mommy and Alice are the sane and considerate ones at home.

What sucks is that I haven’t found enough courage to actually do it. Move out. Move away. Just move. So many things concern me. Mostly what they’ll say. Growing up in a typical Chinese family environment, it’s hard not to be intimidated by the overplayed ‘respect’ and ‘filial piety’ that they keep talking about. It’s hard not to wonder if it’s really that selfish of me to want more of my own privacy, more of my own time, more of my own space. Not away from dear Mommy, but away from those annoying subjects abovementioned. And if they come attached to dear Mommy, then who am I supposed to choose……Mommy or myself?