My journey into the world of cleaning began a few years ago when I started living alone. I discovered that dust appears regardless of human activity. Even if you only sleep at home, after a few days, dust silently accumulates everywhere. While I’m away, the wind blows, and dust sneaks in through the gaps in the windows. It then gently settles under the warm sunlight. On the window sill, on the desk, and even on the old heater that clinks loudly but never warms up…
So, I started cleaning.
Anyone who’s tried it knows that cleaning is the most honest task in the world, rewarding the time and effort you invest. Initially, I only cleared the visible dust from the floor. Then, I started dusting the items on the shelves and eventually polished the bathroom sink. As I became obsessed with spots that were hard to see or reach, I realized I was losing focus on the bigger picture. 🧹
Truth be told, this cleaning addiction never leads to satisfaction, as time is limited and we have our flaws. If the whole house was dirty, it might be different, but if you’re keeping it reasonably tidy, the messy spots stand out due to contrast. If the area around your bed is spotless, the dust on the shelves becomes more noticeable. Have you ever felt that dizzying moment when, after exhausting yourself polishing the sink, you notice the grease around the stove? That’s why, during my solo-living days, I’d often spend my weekends with a rag in hand, crawling on the floor or wiping dust from the walls like a ritual. 🧽
During my military days, when the division commander planned a visit, dozens of us soldiers would each polish two steps of a staircase for two hours (yes, those steps you walk on). We removed dust from the horizontal and vertical surfaces of the assigned steps, then sat on them, endlessly scrubbing the metal edges as if grinding ink on an inkstone. We could’ve produced 10 liters of ink with all that effort. At that time, I asked a senior who was polishing beside me to check my steps, wondering if they couldn’t get any cleaner. I wanted to stop, feeling it was a waste of time. He replied in a low voice.
Only time can tell if it’s truly clean.
I now know it was a foolish question. There’s always room for more cleanliness, but cleaning has no end. Cleaning is infinite.
Yet, as I became consumed by cleaning during my solo-living period, my life became more exhausting. The house was spotless, but my fingers developed eczema, and I was always tired. I wasn’t happy. Then one day, I suddenly realized I needed to break free from this situation. I hadn’t started living alone to become a cleaning fanatic. So, I began to distance myself from the messes in my home. I kept the bathroom door closed and pushed the TV cabinet against the wall so the back wasn’t visible (this may differ from the Russian formalists’ concept of ‘defamiliarization’). I started seeing less-clean areas as the blank spaces in an oriental painting and considered dust a part of life. After all, they say humans return to dust. Or was it dirt? Anyway, when I stopped obsessing over cleaning, I realized living wasn’t so bad. I began to find my peace. 🌿
However, these days I’ve started cleaning again, and it brings both comfort and unease.
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