I went home to see my parents after nearly a year. They live in a small sleepy village-cum-town where you’d think very little happens. But like any other place, it has its own stories.
I was happy to be home again. Happy and irritated at the same time. Happy to see them but irritated already at the prospect of the constant fighting that takes place, inevitably. It’s been like this as far as I can remember. Some things will never change. Those are usually the not-too-good- things. The good stuff tends to fly out of the window as soon as its landed in your not-so-perfect little world.
My God, my God my God.
I was ready to commit suicide but then stopped and thought about it- it wasn’t me I wanted to kill… I tell them sometimes, just get divorced. Please. Please save us from this ridiculous arguing. We have all had enough. It’s painful. It’s tiring. It’s wearing us out and it’s boring. My mother says, “What? DIVORCE?? Do you want to be a child from a broken home?”
“Mother, I am 32 years old. By now, I really don’t give a shit.”