There are some things I absolutely hate doing, so much that I wish I live on any other part of the planet, or universe, to avoid the chores.
Driving drains me relentlessly. Despite using the vehicle almost every single day for the past 10 years, I never got around to liking the habit. It never came to me as a habit, to tell the truth.
I still feel bumps and shakes in the car, fearing the engine might explode or the brake pad might come undone after a day off driving. I just never liked it since the beginning of the lesson; driving to me is a necessary evil, to get around and get the job done.
Then there are chores around the house. Despite handling most of the house works, I absolutely abhor working outside the walls of my house; hence gardening, sweeping, washing the yard and the car (I count them as one chore) are BIG no-no for me.
The list goes on.
I have hated running ever since I started walking, I suppose. So, my entire life was a mass of reasons on why running is bad in every way possible.
At 7, the surface was always too soft or too hard, so I can’t run.
At 10, it was bad for the shoes.
At 13, blame it on the puberty.
At 16, blame it on vanity.
At 19, why run when you can dance away the entire day and night?
At 29, it’s bad for the knees.
I know I would never run and wouldn’t even try to. The closest thing was a mere 2 minute jog and I almost fainted.
I guess I hated running since the day I started walking.
What irks me more are the extra things I had to do, in substitute of running.
I had to walk more, so I walk around the house, in and out the room, down the stairs and between the aisles in the market.
The list goes on.
I never understood the idea of celebrating anything in a crowded place (Read: birthday party in a pub/clubbing scene/).
It never reached my brain the reason people would want to sing and celebrate in a congested, noisy and dark place with hundreds of other strangers. Apparently, it’s fun and chick.
Again, the idea of gratification varies from one species to another, I guess.
Then there is this annoying thing about catastrophe movies.
No, not superhero movies, I mean catastrophe movies, the ones where they show mass deaths, giant waves and deathly comets, also psychic animals and worst behaving human beings in time of needs.
I never had the need to watch various, depressive ideas on how the world will end; no matter what the protagonist does, no matter which country finds the antidote first (to avoid the catastrophe, that is) and no matter whose dog is stuck in the tunnel, it is just plain sick and sadistic to watch them. So when the whole world set to watch 2012 in theater, I packed and ran off to the nearest beach, enjoyed the waves and watched the sunset.
I don’t know, I mean, why choose to watch it going havoc, when the beauty it radiates is abundant?