i hate it. i hate it so much. another case of bird flu has struck malaysia, just days away from the UN lifting of the poultry ban on kelantan. darn it. DARN it! and i was hoping to have eggs for my birthday. now i cant. my birthday is in a few days time and i feel a sort of desperation for chicken and eggs. i need it, i crave it. i am undernourished, my body screams out for sustance. my throat is think, my limbs are weak. three days i have not left the house. three long days. for three long days, i have had nothing but merge home-cooked meals which i whipped up myself. merge vegetarian meals. no meat. no eggs. no chicken. i feel my cells disintegrating... my thirst increases... my lust for flesh becomes me... and yet, there is nothing i can do. nothing will convince my mother that expensive, Australian-imported eggs are worth the extra bucks she will have to pay for them... but i am at my wits end... i must replenish what i have so long been denied... my needs demand it. it is almost a relief that i must leave the house for school tomorrow. In the safety and comfort of the school cafeteria, at least my nutritional needs will be met...

melodramatic? not really.

this house is falling apart. Ever since my mom started working, the house has been gradually falling into decay. i stood in for her at first as the official home maker, but then i went on a month-long holiday and the state of affairs sunk even further. now, school has started and my father is now in charge of the overall well being of the house.

despondent. that's the word i'd use for it. laundry piles up, unwashed for weeks. the floor is sticky and unswept. books are scattered everywhere. the toilet is so thinkly encrusted with dirt it takes hours of scrubbing to get everything clean again. and food... with nobody to take over the daily cooking, our meals are a sorry state. we are like orphaned children, we cook our own food, we fend for ourselves.

we need a full time home maker. Either that or a maid. sometimes i feel angry at my mother. how can she leave us like this! irresponsible bitch, how can she let her own children go hungry, and wallow in filth. but then i think how easily i can accomplish the tasks for myself, and i cant blame her all that much.

but i cant. it's too much work. how can i sweep the floors twice a day? mop the floor every second day? how can i scrub the bathroom tiles twice a week? How can i wake up at 6am to prepare breakfast for my siblings, and then later cook lunch for everyone at noon? some days i'm not even home at noon. i'm away in school, attending my lectures.

part of me would love to take over, to fix the house, to prove to my mother once and for all that she is redundant, and that we dont NEED her to take care of us. that we can manage on our own, and that she is no longer important in our lives, but to do that i must give up myself as a student. i would have to dedicate myself to being a home maker.

somebody needs to take responsibility for the house. somebody needs to. and i get so blindingly angry that neither of the adults do. My father sleeps at home the whole day. he does the laundry three times a week, but that is too little for a family of six! the clothes pile up too high, too long. things rot while waiting to be washed. Nobody cooks. we have no proper meals anymore. As and when we're hungry, we scavenge for food.

scavenge. it's disgusting, the depths we've fallen to.

and there's no damn food. the instant noodles are long gone. there's nothing in the freezer but fish. fish! i hate fish! i want my eggs. i want my chicken fillets. i want my chicken breasts. i want my whole chicken. all we have are chicken wings marinated in a homemade sauce i dont even like.

we're eating out of cans. i refuse to eat out of cans. Horrible, unhealthy, processed junk! Sausages and tinned sardines with no true nourishment! what sort of mother will let her children eat out of tins. i crave fresh food, bought that day from the marketplace and prepared properly from scratch.

holidays are horrible times for me. i have to stay at home all day and starve. school is a relief. at last! i will be able to fill my stomach and satisfy my desires! O, for a bowl of wantan noodles! O for a serving of spice meat! For some hot, steaming delicacy freshly prepared that day itself! No more fiddling around with tinned soups, here the food is real.

i hate the way my mother cooks. even i can cook better. she takes shortcuts in cooking. blesphemy against nature! she would open a can of sardines and heat it in the microwave and call it a wholesome meal! she would rip open a packet of nuggets and toss them into the oven to cook! Sacrelidge! when i took over as house cook before my school started i would happily spend my two hours in the kitchen each day making sure the dishes are properly prepared. none of that instant nonsense. Instant food is for scavengers, people who are too poor to afford decent cooking. people who have nobody to look out for them. the humiliation! the degradation! blesphemy! blesphemy against nature, for her to treat her children like that! i'd sooner suffer a tight budget than endure my own to grovel like orphans!

at least... if the larder is stocked i can do something about it... whip something up for my deprived siblings... but it's not. the bile rises up my throat- already tight from hunger- and threatens to overcome me. i feel angry. i feel helpless. i feel victimized. but above all i feel voiceless. i feel abandoned. i feel abandoned by my parents, that they have so little regard for our well being.

so many times i have promised myself, that if i were to have kids, i would devote myself to them. i will not sacrifice myself, because sacrifice in any form is bad, but i am dedicated that they will lead an extraordinary life. but the prospect of having children scares me. i cannot imagine, cannot *bear* to imagine a possible scenario in which my child has become like me, hating me, resenting me, looking down on me, not appreciating me.

and i can just imagine the hurt. and so i feel bad for resenting my mother this way. i feel guilty for making her wrong. but i also feel that she has been so horribly wrong in abandoning us this way. she does not need a job. my father ensures that we do not starve for want of funds. she takes on the job for the added security, and for the luxury of buying pretty shoes and chocolates. i do not want pretty shoes and chocolate. why should i care that she has a few hundred more to spend on the groceries if all she buys are those awful processed junk that costs more than fresh food? What should i care if there is no coke in the house, when coke rots my teeth and corrodes the insides of my intentines anyway? doesnt she see that it isnt worth it?

but she is obsessed with security. she feels she has not enough. it is a mental illusion of hers, a habbit she cannot break out of. i dont want bags of crisps, the unhealthy things. they are a waste of time and money. i want fresh, market-bought vegetables, stir fried with daily produced bean curd. None of the tasteless, pre-packaged nonsense chock full of preservatives that she buys from the supermarket. no, i want *real* bean curd, soft and fragrant after a flash fry in a sizzling hot pan.

i miss the good old days where we ate real food. when we were really cared for. sometimes i wish i still lived with my grandmother. now there's a woman with real respect for food. THERE's a serious home maker. i adore her. i respect her no ends. She is amazing in my eyes, the impeccable way she manages her household. her the breathtaking culinary skills. her near-obsession with good nutrition. her superior knowledge of household mantainance products. now there's a role model for you. there's a woman who will never let her home sink into decay. i hope i can be like her. i hope, if ever i have children, that i will have the strength and preseverence and love enough to be like her.