Cough and cough non-stop.

Dar have been so sweet to me these few days, for the past two weeks I think.
It's good we don't have any big arguments.
I miss peaceful days like this.
=) .

But fear lurk in me.
The fear of not knowing when will be the next time we are both caught in serious disagreements.
The uncertainty of when he will slack off fighting for me.

I cried while doing housework today.

It's unbelievable.
Unravelling so many pieces of papers below my study desk.
Bubble gum wrappers.
But that's not the reason why I cried.

I cried because I appreciate my mum.
In retail line, employees have to face customers.
If you've a nice customer, you're lucky.
But for my mum, she face idiots who doesn't get the concept of, "We're all humans, why out to make life difficult for each other?" .
She face morons using vulgarities on her.
She even made police reports for the uncouth language used.
She works hard to provide for this family.
Yet my brother?

Not only does he not studies, he messes up the house.
He doesn't help much with housework.
He don't get involve with the bad habit outside, but who knows when he will?

I cannot imagine how challenging it is to be a parent.
Nowadays, if you cane your kids, you may be charged with child abuse.
Children can report their parents to the police (cases like this are all over newspapers).

You have to talk to them nicely.
But if you do, they might take it for granted and climb over your head.
If you don't, they will hate you, and rebel more.

If don't hit your children, they will climb over your head, thinking you will never have control over them.
If you hit your kids, they will hate you, grow up in the shadows of the pain your caused them.

If you trust your kids, they might take advantage of this trust and mix around with bad companies, learn the wrong things and get screwed in life.
If you don't give them freedom, they hate you for not trusting them enough to let them handle their own life.

I, myself, am a kid of my mother, duh.
Yet in the process of taking care of my brother, I am beginning to understand more and more of how much my mother gone through.

In school, I take insults.
At work, she takes vulgarities.

I go to Dar's house after school.
Housework is taken care of.
Mum goes home after work.
The house is in a mess.

I cried, because mopping the floor was tiring.
It was almost back-breaking.
I had to mop the floor twice because once wasn't enough.
I broke down not because I was tried.
I broke down because of my mum.
The woman who gave birth to me.
She had to do all this shit work because my brother doesn't know how to help out, and I am not at home.

She had to do all these despite being exhausted after work.
And even though her health isn't at its best.

I don't hate being poor.
I am fine being poor.
I pity myself occasionally being poor.
But being poor doesn't mean I cannot become rich in the future.
So I am fine with it.

But being poor means I cannot get my mum the best doctor.
I cannot get the best doctor to see to my grandmother, to make sure she is healthy enough to go to casinos and cruise like Dar's grandmother.
Being poor means I cannot afford to bring them around the world and let them enjoy good food.
Being poor means I cannot employ a housekeeper to lessen my mum's workload.

I don't hate life.
I hate the shits I have to go through because of shitty fate and shitty people.

Mothers deserve to be treated like queens.