I promise it’s going to kill.
A feeling: Annoyance.
When I think of the things that annoy me to the point of no return, the list is endless. I have realised that I have days that I am less irritated than usual, but today was one of those days that really did bother me.
I have a long list of things to do that I honestly should finish by the end of the weekend but I don’t think I can do it all. I like having good time management and I like to think that I still have that characteristic, but I have a habit of not getting my priorities straight.
I have been feeling rather short on time because my relatives are arriving next Monday from overseas. I guess I’m not going to be able to have much time with them anyway because I’ll be extremely busy with work and study, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’ll be crashing my house. All… ten of them. Okay, I really don’t know now because initially my mum said there were six of them, so I’m just confused. Either way, it reminds me of the time almost ten years ago that we had visitors/guests…
I found my diary that I wrote in at the time. I was only about eleven or so, but I was an angsty little fifth grader, I’m not going to lie. And I don’t know where I picked up bad language but around the time we had those visitors, I had written diary entries in messy glittery dark green pen, riddled with “fuck” and “FUCK” and other expletives. There were six people staying with us that time, I think – or was it eight? – and I was too young to really remember who they were. They weren’t close relatives, they were more like distant aunts and uncles and… I don’t recall.
I had to sleep in my parents’ room or in my brother’s room while they stayed with us. I was very annoyed by this because obviously I just wanted to sleep in my own room and have it all to myself. But no, that was their room for the duration of their stay.
That has happened on numerous occasions we’ve had visitors, and what I hated the most was getting all my belongings and moving them out every night just so I wouldn’t wake them up in the morning. /hmph
I remember having left a keyring by my nightlight. It was made of beads and woven together in the shape of a person with coloured string. I remember that one day I found that the string had frayed and I got annoyed, immediately blaming the youngest child of the visiting family. My mum said it was my fault for leaving my belongings. At the time that little keyring was my favourite. I have it buried somewhere now, but I try not to think about what happened.
I was very hostile while they were staying with us. I probably glared at them a lot.
One day the father – I’ll just say he’s a distant uncle, like my dad’s cousin or something (because he probably is) – was just sitting at our spare desk. He made use of a notepad that was sitting there and the coloured pencils and pens we kept in a tray. We rarely used those coloured pencils and pens. He was drawing something and to my surprise he gave it to me.
It was a gorgeous artwork of my full name, outlined in pen and coloured with coloured pencil. My first name was written in this bubble-type writing and my surname in a beautiful script. There was a discreet background of a heart that was coloured pink and yellow. It was honestly lovely, it was beautiful.
At that moment I felt bad for having ever had any hatred towards that family. I smiled, and said, “Thank you.” I still have the piece of notepaper in my shelf. I used it as a bookmark for some time.
I guess, I’ll try my best not to be like that again this time. I’ll try hard not to be annoyed.