I saw a video of a lost cat reunited to its owner. The owner being interviewed about the moment they contacted him after scanning the 19 y.o. cat's microchip. "A couple of weeks before she called I thought there's going to be something special about this Christmas..." That's when it I lost it. There's nothing special for my Christmasses. I mean, aside from Jesus coming to the world and what it entails, and stuff. My birthdays, anniversaries, nothing. Nobody bothered to make them special.
I scrambled over to my snack cabinet at the first sting of tears on my left eye. Food has always succeeded to comfort me, but this time it failed. All the resentments came flooding me like violent sea waves: the latest one being having to go to work amid this Covid 19 outbreak, while my mother-in-law spent 14 months of minimum wage (my money!) in a whim to feed her ego.
I don't want to be someone who's drowning in tears at 7 a.m. holding a piece of loenpia Semarang. I believe nobody does. But can we really help it?
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