the dream (and the why behind the dream)

You know how you’ve been doing something for a bloody good amount of times, and you know you will just break down if you have to experience that again? My boyfriend had weird accidents when he was younger and was hospitalised quite often. He got sick of the hospital food, especially the porridge, and now he can’t eat any kind of rice porridge. Not even the warm bowl of bubur ayam with kerupuk and sate usus on the side.

For the past week I’ve been helping my boyfriend move out of his current place and into his new place… and also helping my brother move out of his old place and into his new place. I’ve been moving houses for quite a large number of times for the past couple of years, so I know the drill. I know for a fact that you can’t cramp moving out in a day (my boyfriend thought he could, boy was he wrong (💛 u kak)). I know for a fact that you can’t trust other people to pack your most beloved stuff, even after you told them not to fold the bloody board and end up crying because surprise surprise, they folded the bloody board (yep I cried over a board). I know for a fact that you will loose a thing or to during moving, its unavoidable (lost my whole paint set for a few good years here). And I know for a fact that both moving in and out will cause a great deal for your mental and physical health. For me, moving in and out of places is like rice porridge to my boyfriend.

By the time I’m writing this, I’ve been juggling some things here and there. I’m busy day and night. I’m busy weekdays and weekends. The additional moving in and out isn’t helping. And all of a sudden, coming out of the bathroom and seeing a messy kitchen made me do it. It made me broke down and just started crying quietly because I didn’t want anyone to hear me sobbing. I wiped away my tears and tried to be less of a cry baby. I wrote in my journal and tears just started streaming down my face I can’t make it stop. I cried quietly.

The messy kitchen made me remember the time I had a fight with my mum about houses and the “female duties” which I confronted to her about patriarchal views on women having to always have a tidy/neat space (while boys are understood when they have messy rooms because “ooHHhhHH BOyS wiLL bE bOyS / this must be A bOy’S roOm”). I asked her why she never judged my brother’s “cleanliness”. She told me we are the queens of our house[hold]s and we are in charge. I know she was trying to make me feel powerful, but I didn’t feel powerful... and felt like a failure in “being a girl” instead. Of course, I know and knew at that time, that I was wrong. I knew that my ways in making my space ‘me’ wasn’t tidy and neat and clean and it could’ve had a significant impact on my health. I know my mum was just trying to help me become better. But the way it happened and the words said broke my heart and it’ll be the way I remember it to be. I’ve learned my lesson, to be more conscious, about the environment and the environment I surround myself in.

Remembering that, I thought to myself, does moving in and out of places really make me feel angry? Am I angry at the instability of the shelter I have? Is it because I just hate seeing things packed in boxes? Or is it because of the memories behind the need to move away? I don’t know why I am so angry at packing, and re-packing, and moving in and moving out.

I know people my age aren’t supposed to “settle too early”. I’m not planning on settling any time soon. I’m still reaching out for my dreams and career, don’t worry. But what I do know and what I want to achieve soon, is to have my own space. A space I can call my own. Janis’. Mine. A proper house with a garden enough for me to drink tea and journal in the morning. A proper house with a kitchen I can use any time of the day. A proper house with ceilings so high you don’t feel like you’re inside a house. I can’t wait to have my own house so I won’t have to pack and re-pack things again, and again, and again. That’s my dream. It’s basic, but it will fill me for a lifetime. 

Photo by kak Gagah.