The Unspoken Rules of Living
They said that adulthood came with the misfortune of responsibilities. Yet no one mentioned the mediocrity that came with it.
Every morning I wake up aware of the lingering household tasks that demand my attention.
I speak of those commonplace chores and errands that are stockpiled for eternity. The daily things that you don’t realise you’ll be doing for the rest of your lifetime.
As soon as I’m up in the morning, the bed needs to be made (the easiest task by far). Although the bed’s presence is a promising retreat that beckons me back underneath its covers… Despite the alluring invitation, I get up and take care of myself first and foremost: skincare and hygiene are the hallmarks of personal health, after all. But as the day goes on, I find myself less inclined to attend to my needs, and instead answer the home’s plea for cleanliness.
In the kitchen, washing dishes becomes a full-time job. Yet, I don’t even get paid. I scrub away vigorously, the sponge peeling off the filth of yesterday’s dinner. My hands concealed under suds of washing liquid as I lather crockery and cutlery, while I relentlessly finish the chore – then the water tap runs cold. I need to “boost” the hot water again.
Begrudgingly, I admit defeat. Yielding as I’m forced to wait at least half an hour to continue the monotonous affair.
I turn to take care of clothes: an infinity pool of laundry is forever stacked to the brim. A meagre pile is shovelled into the washing machine and it runs with ferocious temper. The machine’s drum spins at a soaring velocity, rumbling throughout the whole flat, almost taking off from where it stood as if a plane was leaving a runway. Any neighbours in the apartment block would reel from the earthquake tremor happening in our flat.
I’m cursed to hear its relentless rumbling for the next couple of hours.
Since there’s a lot of turbulence anyway (and I can’t focus on anything else), I escort the vacuum out of the cupboard and plug it into the nearest wall. Fumbling around with its hose, I manoeuvre it, shifting it back-and-forth through each section of the home. Every nook and cranny is considered purged, until I eventually tire and have accepted that the laminate wood flooring and carpets are clean “enough”. Otherwise, my utter dissatisfaction would deplete my sanity. The vacuum is tucked away in its cupboard where it can rest (until next time).
So far, a few of the daily things are checked off the list – oh damn, I have to return to washing dishes again.
I trudge back into the kitchen, scrubbing and washing frantically to beat the dreaded clock of the depleting hot water.
There! Finally done.
“What’s next?” I find myself deliriously saying.
Dusting is something that I fortunately don’t partake in – thank god for allergies.
However, it’s been a while since some of the “unpleasant” chores were accomplished. The bathroom needs to be sparkling once again: the lid of the toilet cleaner is cautiously removed and its contents poured. The bathtub and sink are scrubbed until the porcelain gleams white. The mirror is wiped fervently so it can reflect my weary being back at me.
Last but not least, the trash is taken care of discreetly. General waste and recycling each carried down several flights of stairs over many trips. By the end, my lungs wheeze and my heart hammers in my chest from the onslaught of cardio they’ve had to endure.
Clad in grime and sweat, I can finally permit myself a moment to relax. Afternoon daylight has been washed over by the evening twilight. The hot steam of shower cleanses the overworked body, but nourishes my relieved soul.
I reflect on the overwhelming transition to adulthood: as children, we often forget that any home becomes a living organism that requires care and maintenance. But since our parents took care of the daily labours, we became none the wiser about the inner machinations of it all.
Yet, when the time came where I eventually moved out, it dawned on me: I’ve taken on that voluntary role of “the janitor”. A tedious responsibility that must be met. Reluctantly, I’ve accepted the position alongside my partner, dividing the burdens on a rota. But at least we can count on each other to get through the messy business, especially when everything else seems daunting.
The time spent showering certainly brings a sobering glimpse of wisdom.
When all the household affairs are managed, I now have to take care of myself again: my belly growls with ravenous hunger. I didn’t have a moment to consider eating until now. Cooking becomes a chore even in the best of times, so how do I cope after an eventful day of house chores?
Whenever hunger arises, the choice always remains the same: “cooking or takeaway?”
An order is placed – there are no reserves of energy left in me. I may not be eating healthily today, but I’ll no doubt delight in a gluttonous feast.
But that is the price (or reward) sometimes: the choice to bring order amongst the chaos of lifestyle. Even if you are too exhausted to look after yourself, it is a sworn household duty to declutter and restore the home to its former glory.
However, the objections often arise when this household maintenance becomes a regular habit. When the call comes and it is time to maintain the home once again as a janitor, I’m met with internal resistance. Some days I want to throw in the towel; curl up in bed, relinquishing any semblance of responsibility. Truthfully, it can be overwhelming to see the house chores through – and often it can accumulate and reduce the home to an unkempt mess.
While a rare few can live amidst a pig-sty for a lifetime, I somehow cannot.
The desire to “maintain” greatly outweighs the loathsome apathy.
So I get on with it. These day-day activities are ingrained into adulthood: it is an unspoken rule of living. You take care of your shit, or shit takes care of you.
But, that is not to say that I can’t inject fun into the chores whilst I take care of business: You best believe that I’ll be shaking my hips and singing to the top of my lungs as I scrub, vacuum, load, polish and throw away throughout the day. While the mediocre chores may be an encumbrance at times, I still have the choice in my mindset: to wallow in despair or to revel in every single moment.
After all, these are the daily things that you don’t realise you’ll be doing for the rest of your lifetime.
A reflection piece on the mundane yet tiresome house chores that we all have to put up with.
Day 18 - This piece was posted as part of the 31 Days of Content Challenge that I undertook in March 2022.