Do you? Well, we’ll find out soon, won’t we?
I’ve known most of you for a year now, and there is so much I do not know about you. Things that can change the world in ground-breaking ways, if only we were to know about them. Take, for instance, your tongue cleaner. You do clean your tongue don’t you? If you were to imagine a tongue cleaner, would you think of something like this?
Come now, if you did not get any image in your head, that’s okay, too. We just won’t talk about it, all right?
But still, do you see? We read each other, but do not know the essential parts of each other’s lives yet!
It will please me immensely to know that despite the location of your neighbourhood, and the distance between me and you in this village with an absurd name, we might have some things in common, after all. We might use different tools to keep bacteria off our tongues, but we do keep our mouths clean.
Well, I do not expect you to have everything I do, but it’ll be worth my while to probe a little and find out that things that ail my day ail yours too. There is strength in empathy. And yes, there is joy in sharing.
I dream of a fairytale life. My favourite stories were the ones in which fairies or elves or some tiny, invisible fairyland beings came and cleaned up the house at night, before the heroine woke up. You sleep at night, without a thought about the spiders weaving webs with a ferocity to shame the growing smart phone industry, and wake up to a spiffy house in the morning. Only because you have fairy godcleaners. Sigh.
But it was not to be. I do not have a fairytale life. I clean up, or sleep at night with the dream that I do deserve godcleaners, dammit. That takes away most of the heart wrench at the sight of another mucky corner in another room the next morning. I did attempt to rope in B to help me clean. Or, being the man of the house, to assume the entire burden. But no, that wasn’t destined either. I hope you have what I have. Some shared pain would be good right about here.
Plus, it’d please me to know that your books, if you read them, do not fly back to their orderly places on their own. And that your attempts to help them get there are as sporadic as mine are. Also, please tell me that the CDs you’ll probably never look at except to throw them in a bin 10 years later go into the shelf along with the books. And the wrappers of candies you must not be seen devouring. If the CDs are wrapped in horribly rustling polythene bags from your last shopping at the grocery store, then it is even better.
Dust and I are good friends. The friendship grew because of my irresistibility, I think. Dust comes wherever I am. If I do wipe out the last trace of it in a fit of an occasional need to be alone, it drifts in at the next opportunity, and stays. Please do not tell me you have not befriended my faithful buddy, too! Well yes, that’s one of the cabinets from my house you see on the left. And no, it does not have any dust on it, because I just got rid of it for the picture. (If you spot any, hurry and take a quick look around yourself; it just might have decided to jump in through the screen to help me avenge the insult.) I could have allowed you a peek inside my wardrobes and linen cabinets, too. But I do not like shocking people too much.
Speaking of which, I’d be shocked if you do not know what dalia means. And that it is the tastiest breakfast ingredient ever. You do not? Oh dear reader, you disappoint me so.
It is broken wheat. People usually make dalia porridge, but we prefer making a savoury thing with it, B and I. It has vegetables like peas, cauliflower, carrots; or at least just onions and tomatoes. Not aubergine, though. The ones featured in this picture are here with an intention to add some colour, and for all vegetable haters reading this post. I ask you, how can you not like vegetables? I also ask you if you have noticed that the supermarkets offer all sorts of vegetables and fruits in all seasons? Does it happen where you live? I think it is a shame. It takes the joy out of the wait, not to mention the taste out of the fibre.
I’ve noticed that many people in my country have begun using tacky tiles in their living rooms and sometimes bedrooms as well. I am told it is to simplify maintenance; but I say, if you assassinate a home, what is left to maintain anyway? Tastes are subjective, of course. If you live in a house that has ceramic, glossy wall tiles, and wish to invite me over for muffins and lemonade, please be kind and cover the tiles with something tasteful, like a blanket, while I’m there.
You did notice the plastic chair in this picture, didn’t you? That’s also become an epidemic. I hope it is there, too. I can’t survive it alone. Easy to clean, easy to lift and move, and generally tubs-of-flab-friendly. All of that, plus abominably ugly. I have seen some really smart ones, I agree. But this one time, I choose cumbersome maintenance over ugliness. What do you think? And do tell me this is a common sight where you live as well.
All right. That was the last time I requested you to find a common pain. All I am going to do is shoot facts at you, and challenge you to deny any knowledge of their existence in your surroundings. If you really do not encounter some of the things below in your surroundings, please tell me what an equivalent would look like, won’t you?
There were many other things on my mind, but I am a gentle, caring person. The word count has reached 1986, and you’ve read enough. (That is if you’ve reached this far.)
Have fun today, then. And think of all the things you have in your life, even if it isn’t a fairytale.