Dust, another day

The sun shines again, she thinks.

Her stands at the little space behind the apartment, slippers on her feet, to protect them from the grime and dirt on the cream tiled floors. The space is small, and fully utilize, although may not be efficiently used. If she stands right in front of the sliding that separates the kitchen and the little space outside, she can actually enjoy the breeze.

The tiny is like a cube, with one side open to have a balcony. It cannot be bigger than thirty six square feet, she estimates, although never quite believing herself whenever it comes to estimating things. The floor is tiled, cream-coloured, if she looks hard enough under all the grime, dirt and dust. To the right corner, right in front of the sliding doors, sits the washing machine. It's foreign made, a trusted brand in household equipments. Greyish, if she needs to describe it's colour, very dusty if she has to describe it's condition. Just like everything else in the little apartment, she thinks.

To her left, opposite the washing machine, against the orange wall, underneath the master room window, a little shoe rack lines a few pairs of shoes, though not orderly. It had been recently placed there, the shoe rack, she was told earlier. She wonders when the shoes, like the others, will start to get eaten by the dust.

She shifts her attention to the floor. Dust covers most of the floor, especially nearing the rectangular, green, plastic flower pot. Some of the earth from the pot has spilled to the floor, mixing with the dust of the floor, creating a thick, black soot-like layer of dirt. The pot sits where the sun hits most on the balcony daily, right under the grille of the open side of the cube-shaped balcony. The drain trap, she notices, is stuck with dead leaves and other things she cannot make out. Of course, she thinks.

The blue and white clothes hanger, standing firmly between the balcony grille and the shoe rack, is empty. Just nice that it is there, she thinks, slightly nodding her head in approval to where the hnager stands, very close to the window at the back. Else, it will sway and sway away, she lets her mind run, with all the clothes, flying around, swirling above and away, light Buzz-Lightyear! She chuckles and brings her wandering to a halt. Back to earth, she says to herself.

The string lines she made between the top balcony rail to the lower aircon compressor rack at the last visit still hangs there steady, although not as firm as they were when she first put them up, she notices. It still hangs, that is the most important, she thinks. The spoiled pans are still there, letting the packs of detergents stand on them.

Dust everywhere there. She heaves a big sigh out. Another day, she thinks, another day. She turns around and get back into the kitchen, leaving the space.