345: Welcome Back to Hell, Roomie

I got his call as I was going out the door.  "I'm on my way," I said, trying to figure out an effiecient way to close the gate, while holding the phone in one hand and the stroller on the other.

Van was gone for more than a week.  He stayed at a friend's house in Central while I remained in hell.  Yes, 'hell' seems to be the most appropriate term for this room.  He told me that he was going back Sunday.  At midnight, I got his call asking me to meet him at the bus stop that was a good 15-minute walk from our quarters.

I tried to tidy up the room as much as I could.  But it was no use.  All I did was merely relocate the mess to another corner.  I gave up and grabbed the stroller.  I had a feeling he'll need it for his luggage.

A few minutes later, I saw him walking aimlessly towards the MTR station, he got off two blocks away and I was going to meet him there.  I called out his name and he turned to me with the look of a resigned man.  Heavy shoulders and lonely eyes, he managed to smile before he let go of the bag and plopped it on the wheeled metal tray.  The mood reminded me of when  Holden went back to his home in The Catcher in the Rye and only his sister Phoebe saw him.  They should have been excited as hell but under the circumstances, there was a bigger issue at hand.  And for us, it was going back to an awfully cramped space and I know I promised I won't ever complain about it again.

A welcome post from Van as well.

So we walked and talked.  It's not as if we haven't talked for a long time but it was more meaningful and a tinge hopeful.  Anyways, I meant to keep this short.  I just wanted to let him know that much as I enjoyed having the room for myself for the last ten days, I'm glad you're back in hell, roomie.  Coffee tomorrow?

Quick Question of the day: Roomies or going solo? 

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360: Leaving 217

"Last coffee in Room 217," I held up my cup and Van and I drank to that.  For five minutes, everything seemed just like any other day.  But of course it wasn't just any other day.  It's the day we leave our flat.

Photo by Van Tengga / 365 Project

It could have been worse.  We could've been fired.  Our visas have just been renewed and in return we were stripped off of some privileges we used to enjoy.  

We began packing like crazy.  I uncovered some things I have completely forgotten about but there was no time for nostalgia.  Books in a box.  Shoes in a bag.  Clothes in the luggage.  There was rhythm in our packing, probably because I blasted Pomatic's mixes just to fill the room with a certain amount of joy.

By 2:00 PM we were done and ready for the van.  We had an hour before the van arrives so we decided to have a late lunch.  Walking to the nearest shopping center, the beauty of our neighborhood flooded back to me.  From the moment I walked out of the building to the time we reached the estate's shopping mall, it was complete bliss.  You pass through a playground when you get out of our building.  Children play under the shade of a huge tree.  Old people chat the day away on benches that line the path of the estate.  A few more steps and you reach the overpass that will take you to the shopping center.  A small building that houses the basics of estate living--a McDonald's, a grocery, a wet market, flower shop, beauty salon, computer stores, restaurants, convenience stores, etc.  Below is an LRT station, the first stop of the train that comes from the station in front of our building.  It is that convenient in Yau Oi Estate.  And I'm sad to leave all of these perks.

When we got back to the flat, we packed our lappies and so we had to stop the music.  The mood became somber.  We were quiet for a while as we surveyed the room.  The room is now almost empty save for the bed, the sofa and the shelving unit that used to hold the TV.  Van let out a shout.  It startled me.  And so the move began.

Room 217 will be greatly missed.  Somehow it was close to our hearts, for me especially, because my mom also lived there.  The walls in that flat have witnessed the way we have grown in the last two years.  Right now, for me, it symbolizes freedom.  Because at least in that room, we could be as we are.  And when you can be as you are in a place, then that's where you are most comfortable--as comfortable as home.

Quick Question of the day: Would you trade privacy for a bigger living room?
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362: Not Acting on It

The Summer Performing Arts Creative Experience (SPACE) class has gone from eight students to six.  To set the mood, I began playing "The Entertainer" on the piano.  The day's lesson: pantomime.  With all that's been happening lately, theater class seems to be a good distraction.

After playing some improv exercises, we divided the class into two groups and each group prepared a short pantomime skit.  The children gave surprising performances, especially the older boys who would usually find the class boring or corny.  As expected from the exercise, they performed it in silence, which was quite amazing given the time crunch and the action-packed material.

I felt good going into the office when the class ended, only to be brought back to reality.  "The van will pick up your things Saturday morning," The Man said.  I felt like breaking things.  I smiled and asked if we could take the afternoon off to prepare. 


From the time we stepped out of the door to lunch to the commute until we got home, Van and I discussed at length our disappointments, plans and angst about the move to a new flat.  I have learned to understand Van's way, that talking is good.  I made the mistake yesterday when I told him that I was tired of hearing about the negativity.  But the truth is, if we're not talking about it, we'll probably lose our heads.  I do have an advantage because I can vent out through my blog.  But today, I was prepared to listen and, more importantly, I was prepared to talk.

In a way, my day was at opposite ends starting it with an almost completely quiet morning with the pantomime activity and ending it with a rather talky afternoon.  The common theme though was SPACE.

When we got home, I collapsed in bed and Van went online.  The packing can wait, or we just didn't feel like it.  I can't act on something when I just don't feel like doing it.

As I write this, Van is venting out in the only other way that he can--singing.  "Please Don't Ask Me" is his first song so I guess I'll stay out of his way the rest of the evening. 

Quick Question for the day: How do you vent out?
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