HOOKED


There is something strangely psychotic about cleaning up rooms.

Not that my room is a pig sty. Said room is basically made up of a built-in wardrobe cabinet, a bed, a piano (that I never got around to learning), a guitar (that is garnering dust), and a small TV console. No writing desk; therefore, considerable space is saved. As there is no writing desk for a student (that is, yours truly), the idea of having a TV in said room was abandoned, and the TV console was better utilized as a "writing desk". Therefore, given the spacey room, the only areas available for clutters to gather are limited to:

1) within the wardrobe
2) the make-shift "writing desk" --> post-its, stationaries, letters and documents, bookmarks, hole puncher, staplers, stapler bullets, giant clips, treasure tags, blinder clips etc
3) the top "platform" of the piano --> soft toys, and photo frames.

Therefore, said room is considerably neat under normal circumstances; save for the occasional little clutters in 1), 2), and 3).


2 weeks ago, I was in one of those "weird" moods. Who knows what possessed me, but somehow, I just felt like tidying up the humble abode in which I sleep in. Crazy, I know. Which 20+++ year old just suddenly felt like doing some CLEANING UP out of the blue? Afterall, there ARE more interesting things to do, ya know? Such as watching TV. Such as surfing the net. Such as reading an exciting book. Such as disturbing brothers. Such as sleeping. Such as blogging.


So, there I went.

Pulled and straightened the bed linen. Rearranged the cushions neatly by the side of the bed. Punched the flattened pillow to make it "fatter" and cushier. Fanned the duvet. Hugged the bolster. Stroked the dolphin.

The dolphin. And no, I'm not going to show you the whole of my bed.

Dusted the "writing desk". Wiped the table lamp with a wet cloth. Arranged the stationaries tidily in their respective places. Sorted out the letters and documents courtesy of CPF Board, Citibank, POSb, RELC, MOE, World Visions, M1, and who knows what else.



Dusted the piano. Dusted the photo frames. Dusted the doggie. Dusted the soft toys and teddies. Wiped the piano. Wiped the photo frames. Wiped Doggie. Wiped soft toys and teddies. Wondered silently if I should wash them instead because the dusts seem to be clinging stubbornly onto the furs and feathers.

Can ya spot Doggie?

Rearranged the clothes in the wardrobe by the LENGTH of the sleeves, then followed by their COLOURS (white, yellow, orange, beige, pink, blue, purple, brown, gray, black). Clothes were hung with their FRONT facing left, with the HANGERS hooking onto the rod in the same direction. Was amazed that some of the clothes have been with me since upper secondary school days. That's freaking 7 years.

Swept the floor. Stupid dust.



And voila! A NEW ROOM BIRTHS FORTH. Okay, there's not much difference between the "before" and "after"; given that it was not a pig sty to begin with. Maybe it's self-delusion (although I prefer to attribute it to the power of the brain), but the air definitely smells fresher. Cleaner. Man, the room even looks brighter! I love it!

And I thoroughly enjoyed the whole process of cleaning up - working from scratch, transforming something through sweat and efforts, and finally seeing the fruits of your hands and the results of your labours. It is just so oddly satisfying.

I love it. Totally!


I've said. There is something strangely psychotic about doing household chores.