blog/enigma

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

12:03 AM

There are several things that shouldn't appear on a male teenager's blog.

One, his declarations of love. Or any sort of admittance that he has a ~~target~~ crush in mind that he would like nothing but kiss and hug passionately. That sort of content on blogs is extremely ill-advised against because firstly, everyone knows about that the loves of adolescents are very like fireworks - first the sparks, then the explosive and brilliant flashes against the dark and brooding ~~night~~ faces of parents, then the oohs and ahhs from the audience, then after 3 seconds, it disappears and everyone leaves Esplanade Park. The aftermath is just like the choking sulfurous fumes - no one wants to read about your raving heart-broken rants. Plus, it really unmanly to wail, "Oh baby, please come back to me!" publicly, if privately isn't emasculating enough already.

Two, his mother. Which is what I am going to blog about.

Well, you can't blame me. Usually people blog about their boring little lives as they describe how they had an exciting day because they went to watch The Bee Movie, which is just about the most ridiculous thing I think the movie producers like to put onscreen. I mean, talking bees? But I always say that too soon, because I just saw the trailer for Bratz. Which is not that absurd (in fact I'm quite tempted to watch it, seeing its bitchy content) but I always thought those Barbie doll-thingies should stay in their pretty packages.

Oh, back to the episode about my mother. She was a complete bitch this morning. I know, I know, it's really unfilial of me to say that but hey, I'm in a flat where there are lightning rods installed and so yes, hopefully I wouldn't get struck by lightning. But she really was being a full blown-out PMS-ed woman, which is what I like to think of her as, instead of the poor lady who stretched her womb to accommodate at least one ungrateful child. It puts off the guilt.

It started at around 6:10 in the morning, when I was duly woken up by her with her opening the door and screaming blue murder, then slamming the door shut. I was mildly awaken by this ruckus (only mildly because I stayed up all night to read Wikipedia on Roman Catholic Child Abuse Cases, and thus was still halfway in sleepyland) and was speculating what exactly was outside the door. A flasher, perhaps? Somehow, the idea of someone in an anorak opening up to my mother is rather amusing if not for the fact that my eyes were hurting to the glaring light (they do that when I have had less than 3 hours of sleep). I dismissed the incident with the sort of careless wave the concubines in ancient china do when they want their servants to disappear.

"Stupid cat," she spat, "Jiayi! It's your stupid cat again!"

Perhaps some explanation would be appreciated here. Jiayi is my 16-year old brother who is -let's describe him gently- rather bestial. Nah, he's just into animals, and that love has somehow skipped a sibling and ended with my little sister. Both of them has a haunt which is namely the 5th storey corridor end where a mother cat and her kittens reside. I think to say 'reside' might be a too human description, for the last time I went there, it was nothing but a little 2 by 2 metre area where the cats eat, poop (it was horrible, really) and sleep. The two of them would just stay there and feed the felines and stroke them and play with them. I'm not very surprised if my sister turns out to be Catwoman. Or at the least Catgirl.

The turn of events should be predictable as with any tragic love story where one party gets too attached and starts to be obsessed. That's what happened to the cat. The mother cat somehow misses (again, another misnomer. More like desperate for food and someone to pick its fleas) one of my siblings (but my mother's biased, so my brother got all the blame) and therefore has snuggled itself comfortable and assertively at the bottom of the shoe rack outside the common corridor (in the process kicking out two pairs of sandals). It stared at me when I stared at it from the window. Then I made a face at it and closed the window grilles.

I promptly fell asleep again on the sofa until my mother's witch-like cries woke me up from a weird dream about a gay cat who kept chewing my slippers.

"You keep falling asleep! You're supposed to be awake at 6! Look at the time now!"

I obeyed obediently. It was 11 plus.

"I forgot to tell you. Band prac is in the afternoon."

She gave me a murderous look before going back to the kitchen to cook.

This story isn't so much about bitchy mothers, then. I had an uneventful day at band and an interesting wrestling match with someone. No prizes for guessing who. I hope this was an enjoyable read (I enjoyed writing it).

signed, jiasheng

19th Sept
hci
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doodler
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