war-zone

even before i step inside, i knew it was a hopeless case. like losing the battle even before i have begun. still, i have to do it, i was the only one suited for the position. one look at the messy room, and i wished badly that i can turn on my tail and make a run for it. but the messy room will always be standing there, waiting for me, beckoning me with a mournful wave. with a sigh, and glazed look in my eyes, i walked in.

i didn't know where to start. everywhere was strewn with strips of paper, momentoes, toys, stationeries, rubbish to me but perhaps invaluable to them. anything that you can imagine, and can't imagine. slowly i worked my way through the mountainload of things. i grouped, gathered, sorted and threw.

inside i saw things that made me shake my head. broken pencil leads. cut clothes tag. erasers smaller than the nail on my little pinky. broken rubber bands. ice cream sticks. made me sigh out loud and wonder why my kids are akin to homeless bag ladies, collecting every single piece of rubbish that passed their hands. inside i also saw things that made me smile, sitting there like a resident of the asylum, grinning quietly to myself. scraps of paper with imaginative drawings of monsters, with equally creative names. perhaps if little batman does not quite succeed in his studies, by his day-dreaming trackrecord now, he can make it as a manga artist. the motherly pride blossoms in me. little pieces of paper in the little princess' handwriting, detailing how she should prepare for mother's day. little comments left in her brother's testpaper, pretending to be the teacher and re-marking his results. things that made me smile for all the sweetness, the naivety, the carefreeness of my children.