**IMAGE GENERATED WITH CHAT GPT
That's the best way to language it. At first, I thought the teen was just trying to get along with me, but it's been more than a year of dealing with so much stress!
Stella is a distant relative. A girl in her early teens whom ordinary should be blending with the adolescent age. But no — she still behaves as a child. A child who should be whipped all the time. Who should be told what to do every passing second.
From the start, I tolerated her, but after months of bearing her exegesis, I finally concluded that Stella is a thorn in one's flesh.
I'm known to ignore things a lot, especially if speaking will create problems. But little did I know that I was permitting a lot of things. If this is a more appropriate word to use, Stella and I are two different people. I always want my stuff organized, my space tidied, the kitchen sparkling, and the room always inviting. Stella, however, only tidied up when she deemed fit. The kitchen sink could be packed full of dirty dishes for days, she'd attend to them when she felt.
Last week, I travelled, leaving Stella at home with my grandma. I belled it to her a thousand times:
“Take care of the house, Stella. Clean up every time. Don't leave the dirty dishes at the mercy of flies and cockroaches. Please, let this house breed humans, not cobwebs.”
She nodded affirmatively. Her eyes, fastened on mine in absolute concentration, looked innocent like she was taking in every word I was saying.
With that, I hung my backpack over one shoulder and bounced out of the house, optimistic that my message was sent home. At subsequent times in my journey, I was forced to picture what Stella could be doing at that moment. Would she be snoring loudly in bed with her legs spread apart or would she be seated idly in the sitting room, stuffing her mouth with Grandma's popcorn with eyes glued to the TV screen? Maybe she'd be snorting now while trying to wash only two dirty dishes.
I pulled my mind back to reality. Imagine. I couldn't even think of Stella scrubbing the toilet walls or mopping the kitchen floor to sparkle anew. Even the few pieces of image I tried to put together only appeared hazy before they faded and I could see Stella dragging her feet in a mumbling sound. Would Stella, for once, prove me wrong?
Some days later, I returned home. Guess what? The house was a beautiful mess. Does Stella ever fail to disappoint? I wanted to ignore it... to push away the piled-up clothes on our bed and jump into a free space, for my tiredness had horns. But I couldn't. With heavy eyes, I stood staring at the heap of clothes. Were they washed, about to be washed, or among the clothes that didn't have a home in the wardrobe?
**IMAGE GENERATED WITH META AI
A scream from behind startled me. I turned to realize it was an excitable one. Stella rushed into my arms, her face radiating with smiles. She held onto me for long like I had just been released from the kidnapper's den and she feared I would be taken away a second time.
“Welcome home, Aunty!” She was still beaming in my embrace. I was as stiff as a mannequin, unwilling to entertain her. I wanted her to look up my face and see the displeasure spelt over me. But her head was buried in my chest.
She finally released me, breathing hard like she had just finished a relay race.
“How was the wedding? Did you bring anything for me?” She grinned.
“For you?” I wanted to ask, but had to refrain myself. It took a lot of struggle to not lash at her. Today was not that day. I wouldn't throw all the excitement from my bestie's wedding over this.
I swallowed. My eyes shifted from hers to the bed. She followed them. I knew she got the message. Her shoes were just beside the bed, scattered all over. She knew I would say something, so she was quick to speak.
“Aunty, I'm sorry. I know I promise to change. Believe me, I have.”
She said she had changed. Her sober face told even more. Again, my eyes went to the heaped-up clothes on the bed.
She found her voice immediately.
“I was... I'm trying to arrange the house. Go check the bathroom, I just finished cleaning up,” she announced.
I stared long at her, enough to let her know I meant it when I said neatness was not an option, it was a must as long as we stayed together.
She searched my eyes, and her sober emotions danced through her eyes. “I promise.”
“Stella,” I finally spoke. “You know you are a thorn in my side, right?”
Her brow raised. “Uh? You mean?”
I dumped my backpack on the bed, pulled off my sandals and kept them on my rack. I returned, ignored her and walked to the door.
“You are in JS two, go ask your English teacher.” I opened the door and walked out.