There were those days I dreaded waking up because of what I was going through. I never looked forward to the next day. It was that bad. Until, one day, a friend dragged me out of my house. He wanted me to help him clean up his house. I obliged.
He went out for a function. I was glad because I don't like being supervised. I love cleaning especially if it has to do with cleaning houses, bathrooms, and toilets. I am allergic to a dirty environment. The sight and smell of a cleaned room make me happy.
I love the sight and smell of a cleaned room
Apart from reading crime novels, solving mathematics, cleaning keeps me sane.
I remember how much joy I felt that day when I cleaned my friend's entire house. He had been gone long enough for me to clean his bedroom, kitchen, toilet, and bathroom. He had access to water and made my work easier. I dusted, washed, mopped, and left the entire place sparkling. Then I disappeared.
Yes, I disappeared. I didn't want him to return and meet me in the room. He was pleased when he returned to the sight of his room. He called me up and thank me.
That night, I started writing in my journal again. I shared everything that happened and how I felt about cleaning.
As I wrote I remembered I used to like cleaning but because of my unhappy state, I stopped. I remembered how I used to love cleaning out the bathroom and toilet every Saturday at home. And this had always made mum and dad happy. When I remember their smiles, I felt happy.
From here, I discovered, it had nothing to do with cleaning. It wasn't the fact that I loved cleaning that made me happy. It was the fact that I can help people, and this puts smiles on their faces.
I had this post on my Peakd since morning, and I was reluctant to publish it. I didn't think I had said enough. I felt I still have more things to add, it just wasn't coming to me.
Then we had a compound meeting in the house that I live, and now, I am finally ready to hit the publish button. This is because while we were discussing, my landlord brought up the issue of giving gifts to the Three most outstanding tenants of the year.
He mentioned the first person, and he was supposed to be awarded for always dressing well. The second was acknowledged for always paying rent on time. The last was to be given to the one who is always actively involved in the affairs of the compound.
Then, he went further and mentioned, there will be a fourth person and that the human is supposed to be awarded for always keeping the compound clean. And he said it was me. I laughed inside of me because I knew I stopped cleaning anywhere in the compound several months ago.
When I first got to this compound, there was a note on the bathroom door that doesn't allow slippers in, to keep away excess dirt and sand.
Since I am allergic to dirty environments, I tried as much as I can to always wash the bathroom every Sunday evening, when everyone is gone(remember, I don't like being watched while cleaning). And I did it consistently for one and half years.
However, something happened and I stopped. I vowed never to wash the bathroom since then, and no matter how much my body wants to reach out for detergent, brushes, and antibiotics, and start scrubbing, I hold myself back.
I hold myself back from grabbing the soap and clean
This evening, I told my Landlord I had stopped cleaning anywhere, and that it's my other neighbor who does. The gifts were not ready yet, he said, they are making plans. I hope that I will relocate by the time it gets here because I wouldn't want to receive a gift for things I didn't do.
What makes me happy then is helping others. And it has to be something I did with my hands for them. It could be helping them wash, clean, prepare meals, etc.
A lot of things have happened because of living in this manner, and just as I hold myself back from scrubbing the floor of our bathroom, I hold myself back from caring. It seems as though my heart has been harden. I hope to stop here so tears don't come dripping.
This is my entry to the Ladies of hive contest. I invite @samsmith1971 to join the contest.