The past 1 and half weeks, I was home alone. Quite. Parents were in Europe for a short break.
Dad was scheduled for a working trip to Amsterdam, Milan, and Venice. At first I wanted to tag along, since I missed following him to UK the year before. This time, we persuaded mum to follow him on the trip. After all, the last time they went to Europe together was more than 20 years ago. It was in Amsterdam that they had their "2nd honeymoon". I'm sure it would be good for memories' sake that they revisit the place.
Had it not been for the short notice, I'd have jumped on the plane with them too. In the end, mum got her leave approved and tickets confirmed just 2 days before the scheduled flight. After all the hoo-ha with the winter clothing, exchange of cash, passport, and extra camera, we bade them goodbye as they were driven off to the airport Saturday night.
For my brother, it was bliss. Freedom, no mummy to nag him. For me, I had to pick up after him. His clothes, his dishes left on the sink, his loose change on the table, his... whatever. I found myself praying for a domesticated hubby-to-be.
I didn't realise there was so much housework to do when one has to do all of them by oneself. So I spaced them out across the week. One day to do the laundry, another day to mop the floor, another to throw the trash. And along with these, make sure all appliances are switched off, all locks are where they're supposed to be at the end of the day. I guess the workload is multiplied when one stays in a double storey house, and further doubled when dearest brother is nowhere to be seen.
Mum called a couple of times, albeit with some initial difficulty. Couldn't get through us at the house phone, and the Euro phones have foreign sounding instructions. I assured her everything was alright, we were still alive and well, and not to worry about the house. Just enjoy themselves and not to think too much about souvenirs. I'm aware of the exchange rate and the glitziness of the places they're at.
Heck, I was almost dying with envy when I heard dad was going to Milan. The fashion city. What if summer sales was ending, it's still fashion city! Designer bags and clothes are at a fraction of a price, some not even found in boutiques back in the country. Even if I don't end up buying any of the overpriced goods, I'm sure it would be an quite experience just to be in the midst of a bustling fashion city.
Mum came back yesterday with tales of her holiday. I'm glad she enjoyed herself. She managed to buy loads of chocolates and some goodies for me. Belated birthday gifts, she said. Nevermind that. I'm just so happy and touched she had time to buy me some nice stuff. I don't really mind if I don't get gifts from my family. We're not really into birthdays and such. Never really made a big fuss, so once in awhile when we do, it is considered big.
When I left for work this morning, and the rest of the family happily snoring away in dreamland, the bagful of goodies were still on the table. The night before, my dad was teasing that my mum brought me the whole of Europe - the postcards, pamphlets, brochures and hotel goodies. He's a minimal traveller, and doesn't bring back unnecessary stuff that touristy people usually do. So I told him that since I didn't get to go, mum wanted to share a bit of her holiday with me. Knowing how much I love to travel, those were good enough for me.
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