The only throne I will sit for

Nope. I don't have an Obsessive-Compulsive Personality. To put it simply, I don't work around a chaotic environment. I think it was one of the highlights why my late mother persisted me to enroll in the University of the Cordilleras not because they are loyal to the the late Benjamin Salvosa. University of the Cordilleras is famously remarked for having clean and fresh smelling CR. 'It is so clean and fresh you can even eat inside' as the popular remark goes. Unlike my previous High School's CR (all three or four of them actually) that you will throw up first before approaching inside.  In my current university, the only pain in the butt before using the cubicles is the long line of girls in which most are there to change into their PE attires. 
I cannot be able to concentrate on any tasks in front of heterogeneous materials bunked and piled in a messy order. Even at school, I am solely disturbed by a wrapper of Voice crackers lying on the floor by apathetic students. Also, even when waiting for a jeepney, the trash around being dragged by the wind disturbs me. My hand is always itchy for it, so It is mandatory for me, before I leave home, to bring a pair of latex gloves. 
My compulsiveness for cleanliness was a trait that I obviously inherited from my late father. He was a an investigator for the Philippine Constabulary (Now PNP) and was always ticked off by a single dirt. No dust will ever try to coexist with him and his leather jacket. Like him, working around a chaotic room won't do him anything productive. When he retired from the Philippine Constabulary, or in the national defense force for that matter, he did not entirely drop being a cop. At times, people from the force would visit him for consultation also he is employed to be a parole officer. This, for free. But my father, he is not the typical productive man who will kick his day with a cup of joe. At 6 am, he will grab the broom, mop and duster and exile the dusts away. At 8, the house and even the street where our house is resided is spic and span. After that, he retreats to our porch where his working area is adjusted. He still use the noisy typewriter which he had been using for three decades. Though, the retired Chief Investigator would always prefer a long-hand.

My late father is a cleaning freak in which he cleans most than my late mother. Also, since my mother was a consummated entrepreneur and the majesty of the kitchen. At weekends or at any given day that school is not concerned, he will employ us to scrub the CR and the Bathroom. Ugh. The toilet brush had been my bestfriend every summer. Surprisingly, I did not have a growing aversion in cleaning the CR. Even without being dictated, scrubbing the CR and Bathroom was impulsively my duty. 

I  expanded my circle of friends by discovering domestic chemical compounds such as Chlorox or Muriatic Acid. Gloves and Face Masks, too. Our house (the top unit of our building) is white-tiled, and the site of muddy footprint on the CR tiles (mostly by my siblings) infuriates me. My parents, whether it is a family travel or work travel, they would often bring us along. We don't go to hotels since at any place we travel to, there would always be a residence that my parents know. Mostly, clients or relatives of my parents. It frustrates me of not seeing a clean CR. 

The worse, is the medieval square toilet. Worst, is the cat-in-the-hole dumping area. I would rather hurt my bladder or extend the patience of my rectum. The most evil of all is that my parents and siblings expects me not to be fussbudgety. Enduring the uncivilized architecture of dumping throne is the only option I can hold to. 

When having to sleepover to my older siblings' home, I am gratified by the sight of their pristine clean CR. But when coming over to my friends' or classmates, Oh mon dieu. I may sound as if I am  a maarteng burgis, but in no way I am a burgis. I just feel that excreting in a toilet is as emancipating as eating a comfort food. Kaya nga comfort room, 'di ba?
All of these was ruined when I attended a seminar with my mother about Sanitary somewhere in the province in Benguet. I was a high school student. One of the topics covered was having a decent CR. Most of the residences have a communal toilet, a medieval pot or opt to cat-in-the-hole. 
When we went home and was about to dump, I feel emancipated sitting on my throne that I had been spoiling every weekend.
Fastforward, I still clean the toilet every sunday morning. When I am in another residence, I am armed with Chlorox. Trying not to drink or eat too much. Lucky, if I find myself in the mall.
In college, I had the delight of not waiting until I get home to dump. The school's CR makes a refreshing option. Hey, school is a second home, amiryt? 

In memory of Tywin Lannister, the patron saint of dumping at midnight in King's Landing