I love my home.
But it doesn't mean I like EVERYTHING about it.
I dislike my room because there are holes on the ceiling caused by the damn musang, half the eletrical sockets don't work, and the damn bathroom isn't in a working condition.
I dislike the unkept jungle that is my garden outside the house, with its trees and leafy whatnots growing wildly everywhere as a home to godknowswhat new species of scary mutant animals about the garden.
I dislike the fact that sometimes there are cockroaches and mice running about out of nowhere.
I dislike the fact that we have too much wooden old people cina furniture at home, all of which which needs to be handled with care.
I dislike the fact that we have too much JUNK IN THIS PLACE. Company Annual Reports. Magazines. Textbooks. Papers. Broken electrical appliances. Unused plastic containers. Spoilt shoes. Old clothes. It's ridiculous!
I dislike the fact that we have this wading pool which turned into a swamp filled with green algae water and it scares me to wonder what lurks beneath the still waters.
I dislike the fact that this house leaks when there's a heavy rain and floods up the ground floor and that I have to clean it up.
I dislike that there is always so much goddamn black dust everywhere because we live near the zon perindustrian bebas.
I dislike how sometimes for no apperent reason at ALL, my water turns all muddy yellow IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SHOWER.
I love my home.
Yet there are so many things I don't like about it.
It's not the best home ever. It's not perfect.
But I have been living in it for at least half my life. And I still am.
In spite of all its shortcomings, it's still home.
And I love it.