Heartbroken.

I finally mustered enough gut today, to call the landlady of that house I told you before.
Turned out, the house is already spoken for, long before the last tenant moved out.

DAMN!!!!

Although I shouldn't feel angry at myself for not calling sooner, since it would still be pointless because the house was never really available for rent anyway, I still feel that my reluctance to call the landlady was due to me being afraid of what Ahmad would do if I went about this without his consent.

When I called her this evening, it was really my frustration that pushed me to make that call. I've gotten really fed up with trying to keep this place together because, you know, everything here belongs to Ahmad's mother. I feel involuntarily obligated to keep everything just the way they are since everything here belongs to her. What we own are all in our bedroom, plus the car and the motorcycles in her porch. The stove is hers, the plates, woks, cutlery, the sofa, dining table, the TV cabinet, everything is hers.

So, imagine my frustration when Shahrin & Nazrin terrorizes the place, making a mess (because that's what children do <-- read sotto voce), breaking things and doodling on the walls. I'm forever yelling at them for messing things up because THEY ARE NOT OUR STUFF!!!!
Ahmad doesn't or wouldn't want to understand this situation. Maybe because to him, his mother's stuff is his stuff too, which I personally think is BS! Because we don't contribute to the house at all; we don't pay rent, we just use everything here, we don't even add any value to the house. WE JUST HAPPEN TO LIVE HERE.

I cried after that phone call.
I was really looking forward to having a place of my own.
Even before I made that call, I've begun organizing our meager possessions in the rooms of that house.
This is the 5th house that has slipped out of my hands.
And I blame it on Ahmad.

If only I could hate him for putting me through this misery.