My jikka

A month has passed. Really quickly.
And as fast as the clock ticked, my weighing scale did too.
:) But for the first time, i am not complaining. I feel so so blissed, and blessed being able to come back to my 実家 jikka, or parents'home in Japanese. I never took this coming back seriously until i made mummy friends, and this phrase seems to be ringing into my ears occasionally throughout festivals or simply when mummy just needs a break.
Jikka is a 2 hour bus ride to Narita airport plus a 7 hour flight away from home. Not very long, but not that short either. Not short such that i can hop over for just a weekend, but long enough for me to feel the distance between my parents.
WELL, ANYWAY, there is the love hate relationship between me and my jikka.
I love my jikka. Very much. But i hate it that jikka is in Singapore. Not that i hate this country. I hate it when i come back and get upset by a hundred and one silly things that people do here. Somehow living here seems to shrink our brains to the size of this country on the world map.
Just a simple day at my parents place. Going to the supermarket, the playground, a walk in the park can create a knot of tension and smoke from my head.
As i walk on the line of pavement to the supermart, i find, MANY TIMES, a car in the way of the end of the pavement which is tapered off to level road. For me, i have to carry the pram off the pavement to cross the road, OK, some irritation there, but for a person with a white stick, do you expect him to walk over your car, or move around your LARGE car to your convenience. Why is it that when you park your car, you dont realise the yellow dotted area meant for the visually handicapped to know it is the end of the pavement, and the start of the road (and your LARGE car).
Next, i walk pass a bus stop where everyone has a posture problem and i have to squeeze pass crossed feet that make the pavement narrower.
Then i walk in the pharmacy, paid with a credit card, and hear some comment in mandarin "this lady doesnt look japanese. why does she have a japanese name."
which makes me laugh a bit and forget my tension on the way to the supermart.
But when i reach the supermart, there is a salesman stuffing a pamphlet in my face. Well, this time i am not mad at him, but i remember the same type of people who happen not to use their brains very often, stuffing my face with jewellery pamphlets when i am carrying a baby in my arms and grocery shopping and my diaper bag.GROSS. Which hand do you expect me to take your pamphlet with?
Then i check out at the supermarket cash register, where they weigh my vegetables and STICK THAT STICKY PRICETAG on the surface of my beautiful purple eggplant. So do you expect everyone to shave off the skin of the eggplant for that pricetag area?
I take the sloped escalator down and find that on the left, there are human beings, on the right, another line of human beings. so is it left or right here? or i just have to say "excuse me excuse me excuse me"if i were in a hurry.
I come home, am glad to find the bag of raw meat separate from other food items, but was rather surprised with the toiletries in the bag with my water crackers.
Maybe i should just go with the flow of this idyllic island life and embrace the idiosyncracis of some people here.
But i still like my jikka.