September 4, 2005, 8:36pm

This afternoon I was busy with the laundry and ironing. Sounds ordinary, mandune, routine to you? Let me tell you what I feel.

I have longed for crisp straight clothes since very small. My mother just wouldn't do ironing. At most once a year. I bet she didn't do any ironing at all in the last three years when I lived with her. I really wanted crisp straight clothes when I saw other kids' school uniforms... later my colleagues' shirts or blouses.

Anyway, she kept anything that might be termed "motherly" in her territory: cooking, washing, cleaning, ironing etc. And I'm not to do it no matter how bad she's doing or if she's not doing it anyway.

She kept these into her territory, so that when she's mad, she could scold me for not doing all these and to say that how much sacrifice she had had to do the cooking and washing. Other times it could be a threat that she's not washing my clothes anymore.

Well, I wanted so much to soak the damn flat with bleach during Sars. But she just wouldn't do it. That it smells bad. And that could be why I feel secured just with the smell of bleach.

So, last week when Shirley found the iron and ironing board in the yard sales, I was thinking, wait, am I really to do it? Can I? (BTW, the used iron was only $5. Can't remember how much the board was...)

Of course I can. I just did it this afternoon. I just have to iron my formal dressing clothes for my class. Can't look the same as the undergraduates with wrinkled and bulky t-shirts. Well, to look professional is more than to do ironing, I suppose. But this is just one of the things that I need to do anyway.

I observed Ann (my friend in Galashiels, Scottish Border) and Mr. Chong ironing many times. After three years since my visit to Galashiels, I finally put my observation into application. You see, we learn by modelling indeed.

I just wanted to iron my shirts and pants many times in the last three years. I had to go to work and wanted to at least look neat. But I just decided not to ask that sick woman about where the iron and the ironing board were. Just in case she's provoked one more time and I'd be in the blame for no reason. When she's mad, it's just me to suffer, though this happened nearly every other day for the last three years.

Well, could be that it's unfair to her when I didn't even ask. But so many times I asked for anything so trivial, it's only terrible consequence. Other times when I just didn't ask and I did it myself, Chinese medicine boiling for instance, she would be scolding and scolding with no reason and without end.

So, here I'm, indulging my OC traits. I need a sharp, crisp line even in my socks. It's like, I'm healing myself.