In the future, when people ask pointedly why I refuse to give birth and help to improve our country’s situation of aging-declining population with its flood of migrants, I will point them to my situation some years ago, somewhat accusingly, and launch myself into a tirade which centers around how little children have literally ruin my life.
I bring you to a lovely windy afternoon, made much less lovely by the impending thought of a very horrible examination fondly referred to as Mathematics, and that lovely-minus-one afternoon I sat by the window solving math problem after problem, preparing myself for war.
That was when the tranquility of the lovely afternoon was shattered by the blood-curdling scream down the corridor.
You would think that I jump out of my seat to run out of my house to find out who exactly has been attacked by a lizard, or at least, set fire on her own hair in frustration when her boyfriend refuses to reply her text. Nope. None of the above. I didn’t even flinch. I just dropped my head into my hands, sprawled on my table in extreme resignation, with an even more defeated, “Not again!!”
That’s right. This is not the first time whereby my neighbor’s little children are screaming like pigs in the slaughter house. In fact, they scream five times often as I did when I was their age, and they beat me in volume hands down. Not to mention the fact that they always leave their house door open.
Someone remind us that sound waves actually travel.
Really far too.
[Let us rub noise into noise and say that my dad just woke up from his deep slumber and is now blaring the telly. *sighs again*]
So it is. Scream from the sister, answered by a scream from the brother. Another answering scream from the sister and I wonder if the little piglet’s trotter has been sliced off by now for her to scream so much. I would have applauded her for her amazing lung capacity if she weren’t my neighbor.
Sometimes I imagine myself walking up to my neighbor’s apartment in a burst of courage to confront them regarding their illegal operation of slaughter house, and the much need for care and concern towards delicious farm animals like piglets. This is how I imagine the conversation would be like:
Me: Good morning Sir.
Neighbor: Good morning Kira, what can I help you with?
Me: I was going to bring up a proposal for your little children who possess a natural talent.
Neighbor: *pleased as punch* Go on, what is your proposal?
Me: Do you intend to make your daughter into a singer? She has really good voice range and lung capacity.
Neighbor: *Senses my sarcasm* Dearie me no. She must have been really noisy for you to say this.
Me: *tries to smile but ends up grimacing* No, no not really. She reminds me of how Adele could have been when she was a child.
But the imagined scenario never happened. Ever. I would walk up to their door all puffed up, and when Madam smiles her winning smile, I just get deflated, greet her somewhat guiltily, and then continue to do whatever I didn’t plan to do.
The sole reason being that my neighbors, both Sir and Madam, are really the nicest people around on planet earth. The nicest neighbor ever, minus their screaming children. The addition of those chaos-wreckers had just demoted them to the second nicest neighbor on earth, with me trying very hard to pretend that, it is really not children that they have, but two cute little barking puppies.
That helped me to cope with the noise and din whenever they start a fresh wave of screaming cum crying cum howling session–I would just imagine that the little puppies are upset with the lack of attention and are howling for some. I guess I can do that much for my Second-Nicest-Neighbours-On-Planet-Earth, though decidedly they wouldn’t be pleased if they hear about it. But why would they in the first place? I feel safe and happy knowing that this blog is not that famous, or rather, my neighbors are not really net-hooked people.
Just now both my patience and imagination were again tested when the two dear children started their scream-game again, and that propelled forward a new wave of migraine for me. I have to let you guys know that there are three intangible things that I absolutely detest in this world and they are:
I can’t stand these three things all because of more or less the same reason, which are my migraine which has haunt me since I was in Primary 1 or 2 and gotten progressively more haunting and more frequent over the years, as well as my not-very-strong-but-not-that-weak-either heart.
To elaborate further, whenever I am in the presence of loud noise, or even medium-but-consistent noise, sunlight or smoke, my headache acts up and it will refuse to go for at least a day or two. And my headaches are usually pretty bad, I can’t walk without cringing when I have one because it will feel like myself having nails being driven into my head, so I always strive to keep myself out of the way of the aforementioned three things. Also, extreme loud noises with strong bass (like those noisy rock or metal music) makes my heart palpitate or make me suffer from tachycardia or bradycardia, I cannot decided, so let us just leave it at arrhythmia. (Praise Bio-medical 2011 for these terms, those are all I ever remembered out of the cheem stuff like Bundle of HIS or Purkinje fibers or what nots.) And you are right, I threw those words in to prove how much of a genius I am. You are free to disagree…but it won’t matter because since I am a genius, I am always right anyway.
Away from my pet peeves, I shall tell you the hilarious story of “Toy Retrieval” which again centers around the two little
puppies monsters children mentioned just now.
This brings us back to our lovely afternoon, with me still doing maths at my table instead of blogging like I am right now. After emitting some high-frequency screams like the capable children they are, they decided to take things a step further by tossing toys out of their house into the corridor.
That is…really fun.
For children the height of my knees.
I watched on in a somewhat cranky amusement as a very long stick, those type which people use to hook their clothes with, was ejected out between the bars in their wrought-iron door to retrieve the toy sunglasses. Immediately I assumed that it was their helper who was trying to retrieve that toy in such a odd manner. She prodded and poked at the toy in an attempt to hook it back within an arms length to grab it, but her failed attempts only pushed the sunglasses further and further.
I watched on and my head shook on its own account as the line, “Good riddance to people who think with their rumps instead of their brain.” pops into my head.
Mean, Kira. Mean.
Finally, after a painstaking fishing session, the toy sunglasses was finally shimmied back to the door, and a tiny arm with a small hand reached out to grab it.
So it was the little kid?!?
Woah. I was impressed by the turn of events, I never thought that she could think up of such a thing. But my amazement and admiration was immediately cut short when she resumed her howling the next second.
Chill kid, chill.
There. I have been psychologically disturbed by all these screams for pretty long, and each time I complain to my mother about the din, she would put in a nice word…for those screaming menaces. She would be all “they are actually quite poor thing, their mother working all day, so they are screaming because they miss their mother.”
I didn’t see how their screaming somehow got linked to such a heart-warming story, think about it, how does screaming ever bring their working mother to them? The only reason I can come up with is that little children the height of my knees do not possess logical analyzing skills yet, hence in their world, screaming gets them everything. Attention. More attention. More more attention. Again, I tip my hat at the subtle ingeniousness of the little children, even though I feel like my mother is making stories up herself because well…she is a mother.
That’s all for now. An abrupt ending, because my headache is really bad.