For the first 30 something years of my life, where I live was never something to worry about. As a child, I was overjoyed to move from our house (of which I have zero memory) to a new one that my father has built (not literally of course) in the same town. it was built on my grandmother’s land, part of her house remains – it was attached to the new structure. It was typical of a semi kampung house – made of bricks but surrounded by land, trees..well, SPACE.
Where I lived during my schooling years was out of my hand – which dorm which block. It got more interesting as I went abroad. The first year was spent with a foreign family and the rest spent living with friends. Still at this point there was no great fuss or worry involved as far where I live is concerned. Never did I suffer living with the roommate from hell. I did room with celine dion’s world greatest fan in 1998. Each morning she would put the same titanic song when she wakes up and since it was her radio I never did protest. See, I was still nice in 1998 :p well, eventually she graduated from celine dion to backstreet boys. It was then my character grew and grew. Or my skin. Anyways
The question of where to live became a question (what kind of sentence is this?) as the marriage was becoming undone, crumbling or ending (I love synonyms).
Do I live in this house? Or do I leave? Well eventually I did leave because for me it wasn’t enough for me to say I am moving on but I needed to physically move on. Get myself unattached to something that wasn’t there anymore. So I packed my stuff and left. Well of course I had to pack a gazillion other things that didn’t belong to me too.
The easiest way to move is to rent and that’s what I did. Highly recommended if your ex is harassing you about his big house that he paid for and asking you to f-ing get out each time he feels like it. of course not recommended if you give a rat’s bottom about what others are thinking or saying about you.
Well just like I married the wrong guy, I also chose the wrong freaking landlord. A smooth talker who changed his mind at the very last minute (in retrospect I think this tactic is common) and changed the lease from 2 to 1 year with meaningless assurance abt continuing the lease. I was the sucker, I admit it. After the excitement and the fatigue of packing and unpacking died down, I found out that another move is on the horizon. Luckily zen is now my middle name. Divorce? Sure! Move again after 1 year? Why not???
Well I am glad that my nomad days will be over in……about two years! At least there is a house at the end of the wait. I just have to work these bones for another 30 years! But like I said, sure why not????