I was happy with my routine, managing all the household chores until my son and his wife Asia moved in with me.
Their intentions seemed good — to relieve me, but the result was quite the opposite. Despite the large space in my home, sharing it with Asia wasn’t easy.
I’d always stuck to the principle that my home was mine, but their quiet city life clashed with my disciplined village routine that began at 6 a.m. with cattle care and gardening.
I had naively hoped that Asia would adjust to village life, knowing that it didn’t mean sleeping late even on weekends. But the first weekend dashed my hopes. On the day scheduled for pickling cucumbers and cooking beans, Asia went for a manicure, and her son had business in the city.
Left alone, I started working. Their presence, instead of helping me, began to make me unhappy. I am ashamed of my neighbors for the laziness of the young.
Now I am thinking of asking them to move to a separate place so they can live as they please and restore my peace of mind. I understand that this may lead to a fight, but I simply have no other choice.
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