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Blissful domesticity

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May. 30th, 2012 | 12:02 am
mood: uncomfortableuncomfortable

I wonder if this awkward image is even 'normal'. My dad on my left reading papers, my mum doing the same on my right. Me sandwiched between their concentrated silent before-sleep act of leisure. Shrouded in blissful silence, neither of us chose to speak. The only audible sounds are the flipping of newspapers, the electronic wind blowing against the filmsy pages and my fingers tapping the keyboard. This might sound like a scene in a typical family at night. Yet this moment, in all its stillness, inactivity, as if frozen in time, makes me cringe and writhe inwardly. I imagine this picture to be quite disturbing, even creepy, in the eyes of an observer from a distance. The desire to shrink to an infinitely condensed point and reappear in another dimension had never been so overwhelming. It suffocates me. At the same time, my existence has never been so in focus. I am about to come to the conclusion that one's existence will always necessarily be defined in relation to others'. I never felt such rootedness in reality, in the exactitude of this precious moment.

The clock ticks. Newspapers folded. The chair screeches. Dad leaves the seat, making his way back to bedroom, a fullstop to the day's happenings. Mum flashed her IPad before her, engrossed in a game of mind-numbing Bejewelled.

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