In a few years, I would have been living abroad longer than I have lived in my childhood home. Whenever I return to the Philippines, there is that tiny, nudging feeling that agitates me whenever I think of spending the night sleeping in my childhood bedroom, and I think I’ve FINALLY pinpointed one big factor why: COCKROACHES.
I don’t remember being particularly morbidly afraid of roaches. Unpleasant as they are, they were a common sight in the house, and then there’s the occasional flying one. As if that wasn’t enough, every now and then, you would catch the whiff of what is unmistakably a dead rat stuck that got stuck somewhere behind all the furniture. I abhor these pests, yes, but not enough to lose sleep over them — not until now. When I moved abroad for the first time to Singapore, I discovered that you could actually live in a house and not actually have to worry about disease-ridden insects crawling all over your stuff. Once you go roach-less, it’s a bit hard to literally go back.
I’ve always thought that our pest problem was because of how our childhood home was situated — a house built in the 70’s with a growing pile of discarded junk in our backyard. I thought that this state was unavoidable — or is it? Is it actually only our home that was this way? The thought of asking my friends how it was growing up with roaches in their own homes never crossed my mind. If you’re not bewildered and disgusted yet with this random post and would care to fill me in, please do enlighten me.