My cousin told me one time that among the sisters, I was the one whom she expected to get married, have children, and be domesticated. It’s because when we were growing up, I was the one who was exhibiting homemaking skills and had all things sorted out. Another cousin said that if he were to be stranded at home because of some natural disaster, he would rather be stuck with me than my two sisters because he knew he would survive because I can cook and know my way around the house.

This sounds like I am a very stable and homey person. However, I am also the one who is always courting danger, who will never be content with a desk job. If I didn’t have children, I now would have been jumping off planes, covering wars, trekking to Kilimanjaro for a story.

The domesticated me and the daredevil journalist me are pretty much a contradiction. I’m still figuring it out how they were able to co-exist and how can I satisfy the other one without killing the other one.

Today, the domesticated animal that I am, made the usual Saturday morning fare: brunch bento box. Just because.

Since I was feeling extra domesticated, I varnished my coffee table which has been abused by my girls and cats. It has sustained so much wear in less than 3 years. Now it looks new.

I still had a lot of varnish left that I proceeded to varnish again my bedroom floor.

But I ran out of varnish so I couldn’t complete my entire bedroom. Oh well, I need to buy a can of paint anyway so might as well add varnish to my shopping list. I need to paint my walls in the living room, dining area and bathroom…

Oh quarantine, oh quarantine! I should have been planning my Myanmar and Japan trip now but I am just reduced to planning my DIY store shopping 🤦🏻‍♀️

Yes, I am talking about mundane stuff because I don’t want to think about the giant elephant in the room. And yes, it still hurts, I am still angry, and fuck you!

There, that’s better.