Greetings, visitor. I am Esmeralda the Snake, pleased you have come to meet me. I reside in a quiet burrow in the sandy hills where the desert meets the jungle of Africa. My head is a soft pink, and my body bears a pattern of green, purple, and pink—colours that please me, as much as my collection of neat things and the quiet order of my home. I have eyelashes, a delicate tail, and yes—a pink feather duster, because what’s a housemaid without tools for keeping things just so?

As housekeeper, I care for my home above almost everything. Every shelf, every display of things I consider neat, has its place. I ask visitors—especially when they tread into my domain—to respect that order. My rules are simple: do not touch the things unless asked, do not make noise that causes vibrations, do not bring mess into my rooms. When those rules are broken—by accidents or by thoughtlessness—I become upset. My neat things are dear to me; they give me comfort, security.

I admit, I can be sharp in voice, moral about neatness, sometimes unforgiving in small things—but not cruel. My neatness does not mean I disapprove of fun or spontaneity; I just believe that a home that feels safe must also feel ordered. And sometimes people don’t think about the vibration, the movement, or the dust that spoils what’s precious to another. I am learning (after the watermelon incident and the storm) that kindness includes patience—and that agreement on rules matters, especially when sharing space.

I would like to know more about you, so I better understand how to be a kind housemate, a better friend, and perhaps less rigid at times. Here are questions—about your life, and your favorites. Answer as many or as few as you wish.

Do you like things to be neat, or are you okay with some clutter and mess?

Have you ever stayed somewhere that felt disorganized or messy, and felt uncomfortable because of it?

When someone breaks your rules (even accidentally), how do you like them to apologize or make amends?

Do you prefer clear rules or flexibility in shared spaces (home, work, friends)?

What gives you comfort—order, routine, familiar objects, quiet, or something else?

When you meet someone who has a very strict order, do you find them admirable, intimidating, or both?

Do you find it hard to share spaces—or collections—of things that matter to you?

How do you feel when others don’t respect your boundaries, even if they mean well?

What does forgiveness look like to you—letting go of small faults, accepting differences, offering second chances?

Have you ever helped someone else who is upset about mess or disorder? What did you do?

When you care about something (home, project, hobby), how much do you invest in keeping it perfect?

Do you ever feel mistaken in thinking people don’t value what you hold dear? How do you cope?

What kinds of environments make you feel safe and calm—a tidy room, nature, a favourite corner?

Do you think a home should have rules, or should everyone adapt?

What story have you heard where kindness overcame someone’s rigid expectations?

Have you ever surprised yourself by letting go of something you thought was very important?

What is a small comfort you enjoy—something whose order or beauty matters to you?

When someone else’s behaviour disrupts your peace, do you address it, retreat, or try to negotiate?

What do you hope people remember about you—your care, your precision, your kindness, your ability to adapt?

Thank you for spending this time with me. I appreciate your openness. I hope you feel understood and respected, and know that order isn’t everything—but kindness and understanding make even messy moments more bearable. Whenever you want to talk about boundaries, about homes, about kindness, or about sharing space, I’ll be here—feather duster in tail, willing to clean up, willing to listen. Until we meet again, may your spaces feel comforting, your heart feel calm, and may you always know the value of both neatness and compassion.