“Every Time I Do Laundry Outside, My Neighbor Starts a Barbecue to Ruin It”

I never imagined that the simple task of hanging out the laundry would become the cause of such a spectacular fight between me and my neighbor. I am Marissa, thirty-nine years old, married with two children. We live a quiet life here in our village—or so I thought.

At first, I ignored my neighbor Linda’s strange behavior. Every time I would take my laundry out and hang it on the clothesline, she would suddenly appear with charcoal, matches, and a tray of meat. She would start a barbecue, even when the sun was shining brightly and there was no real occasion. With each puff of smoke, the smell would slowly envelop my blankets, towels, and clothes. I could only shake my head, choosing to remain silent. But as time went on, it got worse.

One day, I noticed—it seemed like he was really waiting for the time when I would hang myself. The very moment I would hand over one of my dusters to the wire, he would come out, with a mocking smile, and light the charcoal. It was as if he was deliberately ruining my laundry. Once, I peeked out of the window, and I saw him staring at my clothes while emitting thicker smoke, as if he had an anger I couldn’t fathom.

I couldn’t help but worry. What had I done to him? We hadn’t had a fight before. Once, I even gave him a dish when we had a party. But with each passing day, he only intensified his actions.

One afternoon came when I couldn’t control myself anymore. I approached him while he was watching over the roast. “Linda,” I said, trying to be calm, “can you please stop having a barbecue when I hang myself? The clothes get ruined, my kids smell, and—”

I hadn’t finished speaking when he suddenly burst into laughter, a laugh that seemed to be laced with sarcasm. “What now? I’m in my yard! If you don’t want to smell the smoke, then don’t hang yourself!”

It felt like someone had poured cold water on me. I felt the fire of anger slowly rising in my chest, but I stopped myself. I just backed away and went into the house, carrying my wet clothes. But from then on, the fight began to get even more intense.

Every time I hung myself, he didn’t just have a barbecue—he brought his relatives with him, laughing, drinking, and the smoke was even stronger. My clothes always smelled of charcoal. My wife started complaining because we had to wash the children’s clothes again. That’s when I decided: I wouldn’t keep quiet anymore.

First, I went to the barangay. There I told her everything. The captain nodded, said he would talk to Linda. But when I returned home, I saw that my neighbor’s behavior had become even more rude. The moment I arrived, they were shouting, and I heard him say: “Your complaint is useless! Let’s see who is stronger!”

The next few days were like a TV series. Gossip started spreading throughout the village. Some were on my side, some were on her side. The eyes of the neighbors, watching our every move. And as the tension worsened, I gradually learned the truth.

One night, while I was walking home from the store, I heard two women whispering on the corner. “That’s why Linda is so angry with Marissa, because she’s been jealous for a long time. She thinks Marissa is the reason her ex-boyfriend left her!”

My eyes widened. Me? The reason? I didn’t even know the boyfriend they were talking about! But then I understood: she had been harboring anger for a long time, and she was using smoke as a way to get revenge.

The final battle came one Sunday afternoon. I hung up my best blanket—the gift my mother had given me before she passed away. I knew she would mess with me again. And I wasn’t wrong. She came out, carrying a bigger grill, and lit a thick layer of charcoal. The smoke, quickly curling around, gradually getting closer to the blanket.

But this time, I didn’t back down. I went out, carrying my cellphone. “Linda!” I shouted. “That’s enough. I have a video of what you’re doing. If you don’t stop, I’ll take it to the city hall and have you TRO’d. Not only that, I’ll file a harassment complaint.”

He stopped. His eyes widened, and he couldn’t speak. The neighbors, who were watching, approached one by one. Someone shouted: “That’s right, that’s enough, Linda! You’re too much!” Some clapped, others whispered. For the first time, I saw that he was the one who was stuck.

He bent down, and slowly put out the fire. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, almost inaudibly. But I felt that was where his arrogance began to crumble.

Days passed, he no longer barbecued whenever I hung up. The surroundings were quiet, and the tension gradually subsided. I found out that he moved house two months later, carrying his belongings and the memories of the anger he himself had created.

As for me, every time I hang up my laundry, I always remember the fight that happened. It was like a soap opera that finally ended—there were tears, there was anger, there were gossips around, but above all, justice prevailed. And as the wind hit the freshly washed sheets, I smiled to myself.

Because in the battle of smoke and cleanliness, in the end, the truth still won.