Choking

Apparently, "coming home" is never coming home in my case. It's merely a situation where you're choosing the devil you know rather than the devil you don't know.

After escaping the cold and dark (it's annoying when the inn you're staying at has no power for the past twelve hours, yet the stalls beside it do have electricity) regions of the Tagaytay border (because the inn we were residing wasn't really at Tagaytay), I come home to a insecticide-smelling room. Which is the second time it's happened (I leave the house for a day or two and it's an excuse for my parents to pillage the place).

Of course right now, the daily infestation of smoke has moved from the evenings to early mornings.