March 2
The housemaid
She was doing the dishes.
Not even a glance in my direction—just splashing water, banging plates, acting busy like I was already annoying her by existing.
Then she said it.
"Can you not stand here? No work, no help. Just standing like a waste. Burden to food itself."
Not loud. Just casual.
Like calling me useless was part of the chore list.
And mom?
She didn't say a thing.
Didn't stop her. Didn't even look up from her phone.
I think she liked hearing it.
Then she added her piece, like this was tag-team humiliation hour:
"Tell me, what does he even do? He thinks sitting with a notebook makes him clever?"
I didn't respond.
What would I say? "No mom, I actually hate myself too, but thanks for the reminder"?
I walked away.
Didn't slam the door. Didn't scream.
Didn't even frown.
I'm tired of reacting.
It never matters.
I went back to my room.
Sat down on the floor. My back against the bed, knees up, head resting on them.
Cried a bit. Quietly.
My shirt sleeve got soggy again.
I've really gotta start keeping tissues in here.
While crying, I mumbled to myself:
"Enemy to food. Wow. I'm literally anime filler now."
I laughed.
God, I actually laughed while crying.
I felt like one of those tragic clowns.
The ones that tell jokes no one laughs at.
"Next time she should just put a 'Do Not Feed' sign on my forehead."
"Maybe I'll walk into the kitchen and trigger a side quest. 'Evict the freeloader.'"
I joke because it's either that or screaming.
And I already know screaming doesn't change anything here.
No one came to check on me. Not mom. Not anyone.
Why would they?
I'm just background noise in this house.
Like a fan that spins but doesn't cool anything.
I didn't eat.
Told them I was full.
They didn't insist.
No one asked if I was okay.
No one ever does.
I lay in bed later and stared at the ceiling fan, letting the blade blur.
And I whispered:
"Is there anyone out there actually rooting for me?"
No answer.
Just the sound of a blade spinning in circles—like me.
I studied for a while.
Yes, seriously. Even after all that.
Because if I ever make it out of here, I swear I'll build a home where no one talks to me like I'm less than dirt.
But right now?
Right now I'm just tired.
Of people. Of noise. Of pretending I'm okay.
Anyway.
That's today.
Congrats, world. You won again.
– M