I switch on the light. They respond as if they are ‘caught in the act.’ I wait for them to leave. They wait for me to leave. They are motionless. I don’t see them looking at me but I know that they can sense my presence.
This is MY house, I think but they don’t care. They never cared. Why should they care? They are not like me living in A particular space with marked boundaries. They live wherever they can find an environment that is conducive for food and reproduction. After all, unlike me they don’t need different rooms, utensils, clothes and other stuff. All that they need is filth, wetness and leftover food left carelessly by me in nondescript places.
I am not scared of them. I never was. But the feeling of them on me is quite icky and unpleasant. I would never want them on me even for a second. Of course, I revere my body as I do my space. Whenever I spot them on and off ‘the act,’ I imagine them climbing on my limbs. I cringe. I imagine a bit too much. I have dwelled on this thought of imagining something and actually feeling something. Sometimes, both are the same. Sometimes, the actual is never experienced, so certain things exist only in the imagination. The invaders’ tale is also similar. Whenever I spot the invaders of ‘my space,’ my mind is on a high-alert imagination mode. I stand there transfixed imagining and looking – looking and imagining. The invaders mirror my action. They remain there motionless. I have half a mind to spray that pesticide which is lying unused (I think that pesticides are unhealthy for the air which circulates inside the house thus putting the family in danger!). Then? Do I kill them and feel queasy about the white blood that gushes out? I do neither. I will and cannot bring an uneasiness to my sight and smell. I leave the spot and allow the invaders to continue their (k)nightly rendezvous.
The next day, I google, “Natural and chemical-free way to get rid of roaches.” As always, Google gives me the answers but I’m yet to try them on the invaders of my house and space. In the meanwhile, I thought I would write a post and in the corner of my eye, I can spot a stealthy movement. I know that I’m being watched.
Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet