Author: Princess Ichigo

I make comics and dreams.
Antique car in the great Britain car museum.

My parents flew over 5000miles to visit for sister’s graduation. They all stay at ours. Dad recently left to go back to work but mom would be around for another month.

Not going to lie, I was really nervous about the whole thing. I am, clearly unhappy with our living arrangements. Mojojo seems perfectly happy with our home looking like a storage facility, while me being me, I really want a home that screams comfort with as little clutter as possible. We have boxes of pokemon cards and other trading cards that he buys every week, he ran out of space in his own office and started putting them everywhere in Mr Monday’s room, living room, and children playroom. I’m so tired of putting away his purchases, sometimes I just break down and cry.

I guess my insecurity about my parents visit were actually stemming my own dissatisfaction. The temporary fencing I made for the backyard chickens enclosure broke down years ago. Despite Mojuju promising that he will out a proper fencing on, he never did.

The chickens are EVERYWHERE.

They shit EVERYWHERE.

I can’t say I hate it openly, because I had no choice really. This is how we live, and I don’t know any way to fix it.

A month before my parents arrive I was trying my best to declutter. I gave away many things to charity, some were able to be sole at menial price on online marketplace. But I was just so so so anxious. I was panicking and I swear my mental health were basically fading away. I even got a few panic attacks at one point.

I was so afraid of criticism, because I myself was criticising my home, my life. And mother and I has always been a little rocky. Things could be great, but then when I get flashbacks of how things were when I was a teen and she was unknowingly going through her own issues, I freak out.

Everything changed when my parents came.

My mom helped me with the kids. She never commented in anything negatively, she just tidied up everything for me. She cooked everyday and made breakfast for us and the kids.

Dad is even more legendary. He did wanted to paint the living room (which is still half painted as I asked Mojuju to help me move the TV console so I could complete the job and it has been 2 years since he promise me he’d do it). I didn’t want to make him do work, but unfortunately that did not work.

Instead of painting my hall, he went and drill, cement, erected posts and sturdy fence for the chickens. He jetwashed and deep cleaned all the patio and furniture. He even made a gate from scratch for me. He fixed the shower screen that has been lying on the floor for the past 3 years, and fixed the plumbing of the toilet.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep feeling overwhelmed with gratefulness. A part of me felt like wilting for being so useless. Why, I tried really hard to manage everything and yet in the end, I had to rely on my parents again.

When will I ever grow up and be fully independent?

Now I get a lunch box made my by mom everyday. All our bitter arguments in the past seemed so unreal. The kids love their company. I love their company too. My expectations of their visit is completely an opposite of reality.

I feel like that little kid again, in my dad’s arms, eating my mother’s cooking. I guess I just never grow up.

I used to wonder as a child, why do people enjoy alcohol. They are bitter and dry. They doesn’t even taste nice in the first place.

But I have two to six cups of coffee now without sugar. Yet I still don’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. It was never about the bitter taste was it?

If there isn’t any bitterness in this world, will we ever stop to savour the sweetness in life?

Or do we at one point get hooked to the bitterness?

Is that why we torment ourselves by bringing on situations that clearly causes suffering?

Life is such a mystery. We all live day by day filled with endless questions hoping that they will one day be answered at the end of our last breath. I am afraid there will never be an answer. Only unanswered questions that will haunt us even in the afterlife.

Nothing feel too much, or too bad.

Until I heard my father’s whispers to my mother.

Of how his heart aches that I am suffering.

Of how he can’t bear to see his precious daughter living this way.

I did not know I was suffering.

But I looked at my baby girl, and suddenly I see.

Now my heart is broken.

Not because of how I live my day.

But because knowing my father’s heart is, and the fear my baby girl would turn into me.

大白 fell ill recently. We tried to fix her up, I even drained ~750ml of ascitic fluid from her. She was perking up, standing up and started to drink on her own.

Mojuju decided that it’s a good idea to kick her out to the backyard despite my protest. But he did it anyway while I was at work. When I came home, she could no longer stand on her feet.

We don’t know exactly what happened. Was it because she was still recovering and he did that? Was it that her suspected ovarian cancer worsened? I guess we’ll never know. But it’s been 2 days now that she has lost the ability to stand or even sit straight.

It’s likely ovarian cancer. Hens has 35% chance of getting ovarian cancer at age of 2, and it obviously increases every year then. She’s over 4, and ovarian cancer is the most likely cause of ascites.

I want to put her to sleep but Mojuju thinks it’s cruel. I think it’s cruel to keep her in pain. We couldn’t come to an agreement.

My only hope, is that she can rest in peace. My baby, she has been such a good girl. Silkies are always docile, and she is the epitome of a silkie. Delicate, docile, feminine and gentle.

I told her it’s OK to leave, she’s done a good job now.

On one hand, we have baby chicks (unintended hatching by a rogue stubborn girl), on one hand we have 大白 who at the doorstep of death. It’s okay. It’s a circle of life. We should celebrate her completing her journey. She’s finally at the end, and she’s done so well.

You’re like a pot of rose.

Plagued with aphids and rust, needing care.

After all those careful watering, you grow thorns.

You prick me, hurting me; though never will I know if it’s intentional.

You see, I don’t speak plants, and it does not speak human.

Then at times you bloom with abundant of flowers, surrounding the atmosphere with your beautiful fragrance.

Then come me. I’m like a novice gardener, with first time with everything.

I overwatered, rotting your roots.

I had to unearthed you to fix the damage I’ve done, causing stress and stunted growth.

When life gets busy, I then forgot to water you.

Leaving you suffer in thirst, hampering your bloom.

But I love this pot of rose, and I’d like to think he loves me too.

No matter how prickly and temperamental, I still pray for it’s bloom.

No matter how much maintenance it needs, it is my pot of rose.

I’ll always be the gardener, and I have a tender rose I call mine.

Like a cactus full of thorns,

Never been embraced, never felt warmh.

Like a cactus full of thorns,

Still with flesh, filled with a sea of yearning.

Like a cactus full of thorns,

I drove every touch away, fearing of being drunk dry.

And you came, bruising yourself, battling every wound.

So I gave, because you’re the only one who would dare.

Here to every thorn you touch,

Here to every drop of water I gave.

It’s okay.

It’s okay if the wound in your heart could not close for decades. It’s okay.

When the stitches starts unravelling from time to time, it’s okay.

When spectators of the hurt wouldn’t not acknowledge your wound, it’s okay.

When you feel like you’re the only one with a gapping heart, it’s okay.

I see you. I see your pain. I smell your blood, and I hear your wail.

Not to be pessimistic, but I reckon it might never heal. You will need stitches for life, and stitches will sometimes fail.

The thing is, some are made to live with a gapping wound. Not every wound scar, not every scar fades.

But do remember there is always tomorrow. Tomorrow it may not hurt. Tomorrow, you may forget. You may then remember again the next day, and it’s okay.

We all eventually live alongside with our loss: whether the loss is a person, an object, or a part of what used to be.. Us.

Get hold of that bleeding hole in your heart, and stuff it flowers, and everything else you love.

We wrapped rice dumplings together yesterday. I mean Mojuju was never interested in making traditional food so he took the job of sourcing the ingredient and boiling water. Ya knooo the menial jobs 🤣

Lil’Tuesday and Mr Monday cleaned up all the leaves and also helped out *a little* with the wrapping. They very quickly went to play dragon boat race with our kitchen furniture 😅

It’s been awhile since I made it, so the taste aren’t the best. But dumplings are dumplings. How bad can it be? It’s just a little less salt than normal. I’m impressed that after so many years of not making them that I was still able to wrap them up neatly. Nothing fell apart or came out during boiling process.

Making dumpling reminds me of my grandma. It’s funny that I never actually made it with my grandma before, or even seen her do it. But she used to do them when my mom was young, and it’s from the story of my mom that I know about it. Mom actually doesn’t make rice dumplings. She doesn’t know how 🤣🤣🤣.

A lot of the tradition that I try to do with the kids aren’t actually my family tradition. I guess, I hoped for as a child, but mom never had much interest in tangie traditions, but more on intangible values which is equally important.

But I really want my children to have good childhood memories to look back to. Maybe one day when it’s dragon boat festival when they are far away, they will reminisce making dumplings back home. And maybe, just maybe, that will fill their heart with just a little warmth when they are far from home. ❤️

This month we had two major incidents with fire, and I feel that we should spread the word.

We never ever had such issues but it seems that our old cable extensions are aging? The first incident was pretty stupid. As I was cleaning Mojojo second tank, I turned off the socket with an extension which I thought, (and it should be) where all his aquarium devices were hooked up. Another socket was for our cctv, which for some dumb reason Mojojo decided to unplug it and hook his tank heater on.

I took the heater out, placed it on the floor, not knowing it was slowly heating the flooring.

We woke up at night to our smoke alarm blaring and the aquarium hall filled with smoke! It took the heater nearly 12hour to start actually burning the floor. How insidious!!

Thank god for smoke alarm guys. Please, make sure your alarm is working after you read this!!

Continue reading “Nearly died in a fire.” →
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