Restructuring.

I surrendered my insurance policy last week.

I didn't purchase it myself. It was actually handed down to me from my parents. I'd reached the maturity period (25 y.o.) and am supposed to be paying the premiums myself now. Problem is, I can't afford it. It's a very expensive policy. I'm not making as much money as my folks used to do.

And the truth is this: We're all not making as much money as we used to do. That's why we're downsizing little by little. The house is paid for. The cars are all paid for. The folks won't let me buy a new one because it'll result in a deeper plunge into the mess that is bank debt, of which I am glad if only it weren't for my brother, who needs the same car as much as I do. Given the different workplace locations, that's just way too much of a hassle. And I fight with the guy--a lot--over who gets to have it on our days off. It's not exactly conducive of a healthy family relationship.

I mean, dude rocks my RM100 Sony headphones on a daily basis, as well as my phone charger. They have taken up residence in his bedroom, and that door is always locked. Any mention about how he should replace his own broken stuff instead of being a parasite who feeds off a sibling would be dealt with a counter-argument about how I always get to have the hatchback, and thus leaving him with no mode of transport to make all the necessary purchases.

What a load of bullshit. The van is always there. You're just too vain to drive it.

So yeah, that's my brother for you.

Now my parents are in the process of switching to a different insurance provider. I was told to start first, because they're not responsible for my insurance anymore. I haven't written about it anywhere on this blog, but I'm already down to my last thousand in my lifetime savings. A sacrifice I keep convincing myself is for the greater good. Filial piety is a nice concept, but I have to admit, it can hurt sometimes. I burst into tears at the sight of the figures on my unit trust statement.

I believe I should move on before it gets even more depressing.

So yes, papers were signed and sums were calculated. Turns out after previous claims following events that resulted in my PTSD, I was entitled to receive thirty grand. It would've been more if I hadn't utilized the benefits in the past. My parents and I had agreed that we split the cash, as they had been the ones paying for the premiums in the first place. That's fair enough, I suppose. It's not every day that you get fifteen grand given to you just like that. That's still way more than what I make every month. No reason for one to be ungrateful and demand more.

After this, my siblings would follow suit. We're planning to surrender all the policies before the end of this year. They'll probably get more than what I got. Oh, well. Not that it matters now anyway. I'm just too exhausted to care about all this stuff. At least now I won't have to set aside so much cash to pick up where my folks left off. That's another loose end, finally tied off after so long. I wish my father hadn't made so many bad decisions. On a side note, I think I take after him when it comes to rashness.

Here's to hoping things would finally fall into place. Maybe then I could find it in me to stop contemplating on throwing myself off both the metaphorical and literal cliff.

And dude, I want my headphones back. You're a working adult now. Get your own fucking headphones.

Mariposa - Part I

Please allow three to five business days for delivery.

The wait was only two days long. Points for reliability.

The unpleasant and unsettling sensation of a churning stomach. Holy shit, this site is the real deal.

There on that bed, was the package. Arrived on time, condition as promised. Completely nondescript. Privacy assured. No attention will be drawn from nosy neighbors and prying postmen.

That part about neighbors and postmen was funny.

This whole thing, really, was funny. And crazy. And stupid.

Damn it, woman! What were you thinking?

The package still lay on the bed, waiting to be opened. Pandora's box, but with a twist. The content of said box was already known. To open or not to open--that was the only question.

It didn't take long to make the decision.

Tore off the brown paper. There was a box inside. A box within a box within a box. Why was it packaged like a Russian nesting doll, one could only guess. This was more than secure. More than private. That thing in there better be explosive.

At last, the great reveal.

It was a pretty little thing. A little comical, given the purpose--but pretty. A fluttering butterfly, to keep you company on these lonely nights. Maybe even in broad daylight. It's very good at staying hidden, or so it claimed. The butterfly lay perfectly still on its back, its neon pink body sending out an unspoken invitation to experience sensations unlike any other. Not fluttering, at least not yet. There were thin bands of elastic on the corners of each of its wings, to hold it in place while it springs into action, possibly while you're stressed out at your cubicle and needed something to help you calm down. Or maybe just craving for a little bit of discreet fun, provided there are sufficient noise levels. Something that one needs to look into. Oh, the things you could do with this baby.

Oh yes, woman. You really are crazy.

The box was accompanied by two more boxes. They didn't say anything about freebies. A little slip of paper was nestled beneath the ribbon that bound the boxes together. A message about said freebie. What a welcome surprise. A pack of batteries for the controls, and a big tube of...personal lubricant.

Personal lubricant? Who the hell came up with that? So uncreative.

Untied the binding ribbon. Opened the boxes. Chucked a pair of batteries into the designated slot. Time to test it.

The butterfly came to life. Fluttering lightly at first--and as the dial was turned, the vibrations escalated into a wild frenzy.

Holy shit. All this is real. Not to mention illegal.

Not that anyone cares anyway. This butterfly now has an owner. Will said owner put it to use?

Probably next time. For now, Little Pink Butterfly would have to be content with sleeping on the top shelf of its owner's closet--batteries out.