Shieldtox, Many Roaches, And A Chance To Live

They would pay me my extra hours if I went back late, but why should I? Out of office 1740hrs on the dot, shortly after the automated time bell blasting its sound in the air inside that four-wall air conditioned room. The Mood was not as good as any days before. In fact, I had no clue how did Good Mood look like. Clear definition had not being brought up, so a plain straight face throughout the day could be defined as Good Mood.

Cheerful heart brings to the face.


On the other side of the world, spring has just begun. With petals of Sakura thick on the road, I would love to lay flat on it. Golden Week. Recession. A week off from work. Maybe a few weeks off from work. Then it should be renamed to Golden Weeks instead. I am on the other side of the world. I should be spared from any Golden Week. Or Weeks.

The mood was still indescribable, cranky at one time, better at another. This fluctuation sometimes bring a wee bit confusion to my body coordination, sure it did not bring any good when I was behind a steering wheel, but an old EX-5 bike with a huge metal box with stains of paint and rust on the rear seat, did transform a Crappy Mood to a Good Mood.

"Uncle, putu mayam ada lagi?"

"Awak nak berapa?" a smile that denoted a kind gesture one should give to one who had a Crappy Mood (though OBVIOUSLY unnecessary).

I smiled in return (an honest smile, not a doctored smile. That kind of smile could be seen miles away!)

"Kira macam mana ye?"

"Satu lima puluh sen", struck by the underprice, I asked for four.

"Uncle bagi satu lagi untuk awak", while pouring a hell lot of brown sugar and grated coconut alongside the weavy steamed flour.

"Cukup tak gula ni?"

"Cukup cukup", there you go, my diet, my time wasted in the gym.

"Terima kasih uncle" an honest smile.

My mood lifted up, like smelling the gentle perfume from someone you adore. And I wondered how fluent he spoke in Malay, without a hint of unwashable Tamil accent. They knew how to speak my language. I meant, flair and without hiccups.


I reached home. The smell that I love. The comfort and the security. The feeling that I owned everything inside. It may not be huge as any houses I saw in TV, but it still huge and awesome like any other houses that I did not see in TV. It made me feel Good.

Got into the bathroom. Two roaches inside. One on the wall, swerving its whisker(?) right and left, looking for direction. The other one static inside the bowl. Maybe waiting for its companion that was lost in between Wild Cherry body wash bottle and Seaweed facial cleanser.

Why the fuck people scared of roaches? If they are scared of mice and rats, it does make sense. Roaches? Are you trying to make me barf?

I did not hate them. But still, they had to live in the other world. Like the other world with Golden Week. Except they were going to the other world with Roach Angels and better bedding than petals of Sakura.

There was a huge blue cylinder. SHIELDTOX in an unknown font looked so bold, just like an insect repellant should look like. I did not know if that little chemical thing could put them to R.I.P because there was only a picture of two mozzies being attacked with a down-pointed arrow. But I assumed, based on my engineering knowledge, that it might kill that little roaches too.

I sprayed each one of them. Clearly it took a while for those two to get high. One inside the toilet bowl dropped down in the water. With its back on the surface. And legs (they had a lot of legs!) crouching for any thing, ANY THING to cling onto. But I flushed down the bowl. And I knew, it was going to the other side of the world.

The other one clearly afraid. It knew what would happen and it ran like a roach! Of course cockroach should run like one. I sprayed it, twice. Alive. Another time. Still alive. Another time. It was going cooky. And fell down in the sink. With feet in the air. And struggling. And I left it like that.

If the chemical did it work, it would bring the other roach to the other part of the world, if it did not, the roach would live. Maybe longer.

I went out of the loo, washed my hands. Feeling rather murderer.

I opened up the plastic bag with putu mayam inside (five of them and a lot of fat!), and started eating. Small take at a time. With a thought in my head.

If I could be happy eating my favorite delicacy in front of the TV, the roaches had had the rights too. But this is how life works. Sometimes you are on top, sometimes you are buried underneath. Sometimes you are flushed down the toilet, sometimes you are spared a day to live.

The roaches should be happy with the Roach Angels right now. And I know how to define Good Mood already.


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