Eliza's Anatomy: Vent the Fourth

Eliza's Anatomy

Everything you need to know about Eliza's Anatomy......almost everything

11 August 2008

Vent the Fourth

WARNING:
1. This is long.
2. I mean everything I've said in this...whatever you like to call this, I don't care.
3. This is not poetry yet there are still creative tinge to it. Since, my mind's exploding as I wrote this on paper and my poetic "powers" isn't working that well...not being ever so thick about it, ait?
4. I just hope you, reader, would read this until the end, "it is better to finish what you've started than to leave it hanging."
5. Frankly, I badly need someone to listen in times like this.
6. Few of the conversations were originally in Tagalog.
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First of, I poured my eyes out this afternoon. Just my eyes, yes; that's just like a small spill from a glass full of water.

I was peacefully rereading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in the bedroom because I have nothing else to do and basically, I was trying to cool myself down. My mother and my sister arrived home after I ate pizza and flipped 10 pages of the book. My sister discovered the broken drinking glass, with an accusatory tone she said, "the glass is broken." As usual, my * of a brother would lit up and replied in a blaming voice, "Lysa..." Mind you, I was still in the bedroom TRYING to concentrate on reading, and thought to myself that I'm not in the mood to deal with it. But still, anger is slowly creeping in. My mother came in the room and went to her closet and said in a non-committal voice, "I already mentioned don't stack the glasses up." I just sighed inwardly. Then, as if the already spilled glass of water that was vibrating then now shaking violently and spilling more water. Yes, I cried when my mother left the bedroom. For a while, I cried my eyes out but still straining to hear if there's any movement that my time of vulnerability have been interrupted by opening the bedroom door. With such a small apartment for a family of 5, there's a 99% chance that my state will be discovered. But by a fraction of a second, thanks to acting workshops and experiences I had, the remainder of the chance I wasn't caught. As a matter of fact, the intruders nested in the bedroom but not touching me. I was breathing deeply to calm myself but hoping they won't suspect anything. I sobered up and went out, no place to stay but on the sofa, which is public for everyone residing in the apartment.

I set up the table. Went to the laptop, sidetracking, obviously. With an additional help from my playlist. I didn't eat dinner because I was still full from the pizza I ate around 5 in the evening.

I DID NOT EAT. Yet, I was asked to wash the dishes. I DESPISE that household chore. with all my being. Still, I did it. We had arguments about it but I don't want to bore you to death, as I suppose you are now, so I won't write it down.

When I was washing the dishes, I already have THIS VENT in my mind. I was a tiny bit relieved because I know NO ONE will cut me off.

Straightforwardly, I am angry with the TREATMENT of my family towards me. I feel like a slave when I am home. Home, as in not only here in Canada but also back in the Philippines. But especially here in Canada. Like I said, I DESPISE washing the dishes, yet they still made me do it just because when I do it, I do it properly and neatly...aint bragging here but they said it themselves. Well, at least mother did. Is it fair? I washed the dishes when in fact I did not eat? It is true. Just because I want everything to be neat and proper to the point that people tease me that I have OCD doesn't mean they should give these kind of chores to me. How can the other people living in this household learned to be like that too--to be neat and proper--if they won't practice or do it themselves? Just like in all team building or teamwork, give others the chance to do something so that they would learn what others have learned from this kind of work or activity.

My mother despises doing the laundry. Although, the laundry here is easier than it is back in the Philippines. Yet, I am doing it. So, that's like relief for her, right? Washing the dishes here, in the apartment, is the same as in the Philippines: mano-a-mano. I won't mind if there's a dishwasher, I could just load the dishes, load the cleaner in the machine, then leave it there, that's it! Just like the laundry here. But no...I would still have calloused hands. Is there a relief for me?

My father, he's here. So as his attitude back in the Philippines. *dies* I am not a victim, but my brother. Father was on the laptop or was answering some Sudoku puzzles, I'm not sure. He asked my brother to bring him a glass of coke. *jawdrop* my God, can't he do that for himself? It isn't as if the refrigerator is that far from him. We won't try to sneak in to use the laptop or answer some puzzles when he's away. My brother and I survived without a maid for 2 months. We even tried to survive without a maid during our first few days of stay here.

I. Am. Not. A. Slave. But. I. Feel. Like. A. Slave....a slave to my OWN family? O_O I am tired of this. I kept on saying I. Do. Not. Like. To. Wash. The. Dishes. yet, they still let me. I kept on doing the organizing things. I am sick of it. I have been doing it for a weee lot of times. I don't need any more of it, I suppose so. It's like I'm over-practiced for it. I have already learned from it. How can my character grow when I keep on doing the same things? How can others' character grow when they aren't given the chance to do what I've been doing for so long?

This may seem out of tune but this question had been lighting up in my mind since this afternoon: How can I count my blessings when that has been happening is otherwise?

Thank you, for listening/reading my vent. It is much appreciated.

posted by Eliza the Witch @ 8/11/2008 08:17:00 p.m.

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