Essay --

Typical of our fights, it always ends with one of us banging the door, and walking away in fury. It has always been our way of letting the other know that we are pissed beyond the thin stretch that separates sane from the absolutely insane phase of things. Sigh. Well, to tell the truth, I am the one who does the banging of the door most of the time. Anyway, early this month we moved into a new house, and perhaps it was the pressure of moving, coupled with our tendency not agreeing with things that matter (Like me insisiting that we need new curtains and him insisting that our old curtains will work just fine in covering our windows, cus after all, they are just curtains *Sigh*) So he yells: DO WHAT YOU WANT†¦ and Bang! He slams the door behind him, and I hear his car speeding off into the blackness of the night. Inside me, am seething with deep anger†¦.damn! he cant just leave like that! Yaani! How can he just leave like that? In the middle of an argument? He just drives off and leaves me talking to myself like a maniac? Where do his priorities lie? I pick my phone and start writing him a text about how much of an insensitive coward he is, and that he should come back home so that we square it like adults *Giggling* but I stop myself because I am the mature one in the fight, and I read somewhere that fighting through texts is for teenagers and errm, new loves who have subscribed to unlimited texts. Anyway, I am soooo furious at him that I can barely touch my supper. I just take plenty of cookies and coca cola and suffer through it *Giggling again* I am in such a bad place that I heap more cookies to my plate and eat them slowly, munching while replaying the argument on my head†¦.over and over†¦. I had fought it so logically, lo... ...in to her. She giggles on the other end. I hang up. My other sister is on the call wait. I explain to her too. She clicks and says: â€Å"Na venye umetuamsha tukilala. Nkt.† Then she hangs up. I tell mister how he has made me worry people. He stifles laughter and tells me â€Å"It was just clothes that had fallen, you didn’t almost die†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Suddenly, I analyse the whole thing in my head and I find it kinda funny. I start laughing too. So we laugh~ â€Å"But I could have been surrounded by thugs. And you were not here†¦I tell him with a pout. He looks me in the eye, the kind that makes me blush, and he moves his face so close to mine till I can smell the distant whiff of alcohol in his breath hit me in the face. â€Å"Even if I was here, what could I have done†¦.† He asks, a playful smile on his face. And he moves his face even closer, till I feel the graze of his dry lips on mine†¦. Essay -- Typical of our fights, it always ends with one of us banging the door, and walking away in fury. It has always been our way of letting the other know that we are pissed beyond the thin stretch that separates sane from the absolutely insane phase of things. Sigh. Well, to tell the truth, I am the one who does the banging of the door most of the time. Anyway, early this month we moved into a new house, and perhaps it was the pressure of moving, coupled with our tendency not agreeing with things that matter (Like me insisiting that we need new curtains and him insisting that our old curtains will work just fine in covering our windows, cus after all, they are just curtains *Sigh*) So he yells: DO WHAT YOU WANT†¦ and Bang! He slams the door behind him, and I hear his car speeding off into the blackness of the night. Inside me, am seething with deep anger†¦.damn! he cant just leave like that! Yaani! How can he just leave like that? In the middle of an argument? He just drives off and leaves me talking to myself like a maniac? Where do his priorities lie? I pick my phone and start writing him a text about how much of an insensitive coward he is, and that he should come back home so that we square it like adults *Giggling* but I stop myself because I am the mature one in the fight, and I read somewhere that fighting through texts is for teenagers and errm, new loves who have subscribed to unlimited texts. Anyway, I am soooo furious at him that I can barely touch my supper. I just take plenty of cookies and coca cola and suffer through it *Giggling again* I am in such a bad place that I heap more cookies to my plate and eat them slowly, munching while replaying the argument on my head†¦.over and over†¦. I had fought it so logically, lo... ...in to her. She giggles on the other end. I hang up. My other sister is on the call wait. I explain to her too. She clicks and says: â€Å"Na venye umetuamsha tukilala. Nkt.† Then she hangs up. I tell mister how he has made me worry people. He stifles laughter and tells me â€Å"It was just clothes that had fallen, you didn’t almost die†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Suddenly, I analyse the whole thing in my head and I find it kinda funny. I start laughing too. So we laugh~ â€Å"But I could have been surrounded by thugs. And you were not here†¦I tell him with a pout. He looks me in the eye, the kind that makes me blush, and he moves his face so close to mine till I can smell the distant whiff of alcohol in his breath hit me in the face. â€Å"Even if I was here, what could I have done†¦.† He asks, a playful smile on his face. And he moves his face even closer, till I feel the graze of his dry lips on mine†¦.