At 73 years old, she sits me down and talks to me

about my apartment. A grown man with my own place

and money, but I'm still her little boy. I sit down to listen

and begin my usual gentle persuasion and convincing.



Like a drug addict, a smoker, or a workaholic,

she is unable to shake off the demon that controls her ever

since she sold her soul. It started when she was married

and single handedly raised one husband and five children.

Life has never been the same for her, full-time housewife,

Full-time woman, and a pleaser all the time. Unyielding, unpaid,

unappreciated, she slaves at cleaning, cooking, and pleasing.

She takes her job to the max for 56 years.



Like a factory worker or a coal miner who gets up every

morning and goes to work, my mother too has to go to her job.

Like those people who get up every morning kicking and screaming,

like those people who hated their jobs, hate the people they work for,

yet manage to drag themselves to work and support their

family for years. My mother too feels their agony.

And like my mother, they too take themselves to the max;

they too are unable to shake off their demons.



After a few minutes of talking, she started to clean my place.

Like an automatic robot, she was automatically put into gear

and she started cleaning and complaining.