my life in houses

Just recently, I moved to a new house in Nusa Lembongan. It’s a three-bedroom house that I’m sharing with two of my friends. The house is old, but the bones are strong. My room is small but cozy, and plenty of light comes in during the daytime. The kitchen is made for tall people, but it’s spacious and complete with the utensils and appliances you could ever think of. The living room is made to linger, contemplate, and pet the dogs dearly.

While I was packing my old room a while back, I came to a realisation: My phases in life transition almost always as I moved houses, especially after I started living alone.

Back in March 2021, I broke things off with my then-ex and moved to a new place near the beach, with three other friends. We were thriving, living in a tropical homestay with a beautiful pool, a working kitchen, an ‘enough’-sized dining table, the most luscious garden, and two guard dogs. During my single era at that time, I had multiple crushes and dates, plenty of self-exploration and experiments, making bad decisions and facing the consequences, and actually living as someone in their early/mid 20s. I navigated through heartbreaks, drunken nights where I puked and sent voicenotes, quiet and loud grief, and a fun romance, all under one roof for approximately 18 months.

Afterwards, I moved to the US to start a new phase of my life: becoming a Master’s student. And even then, I lived at two different houses across the two years I was there. I had shared a house with (in total) four other housemates, but specifically shared a kitchen and living room with two of them. Under that roof, I also navigated grief, maintaining romantic, platonic, and family long-distance relationships, being an international student living in a country where they call you an alien, befriending people who aren’t from the same country as I am, and most importantly, navigating the Miami public transportation.

As I moved to the second house, I felt secure in my position as a student, and I wanted to explore more of how I can improve myself. This was my “I want to do something other than my thesis, so glowing up it is” era. I had walked 40-minutes every single morning, went to the gym and yoga three times a week, used Colgate’s teeth whitening strips (they really do work), and travelled so much around the US. I was focusing on me and so comfortable in being alone, but deep down, I was in a longing and stressful state, especially because my romantic relationship at that time did deteriorate due to the length of time we had been apart.

Since my apartment lease had ended by the summer of 2024, but I still needed to be in Miami for another two weeks, I rented a container-box-sized Airbnb near campus for $1,000. Awful. My time in that container box was stressful. The container walls were witnesses to the fluctuation of my feelings: relief and joy of becoming a Master’s graduate; grieving my romantic relationship; and stressing over the move, which I did all by myself. That container box was not a happy place because all I did was cry and eat instant noodles.

Moving back to Indonesia was messy. A dog I had taken care of died due to liver failure; I had an honest and heart-wrenching conversation with my ex to contemplate whether we were going to try to make our relationship work or not; I wanted to stay in Jakarta for a month to be with the family before going back to the office, but staying there gave me headaches… I was at home, and then I was in a homestay in Lembongan while searching for a more “proper” place. Everything during this phase felt like I was floating.

Then I moved to a bungalow complex, where my biggest heartbreak and healing happened. Oh dear, that land has heard my cries and shouts and prayers and has seen my puffy eyes and me curling in my bed like a prawn. But that complex has shown me what it was like to become and be part of a community. The food I have cooked and eaten in that home, the dances and songs we have performed, the people that have come through for game nights and independence games… That house taught me that love isn’t all romantic. It is so much bigger than that, and that I see. It also taught me how to take care of a house and listen to what it needs, hopefully preparing me for that one day I will become a homeowner myself. I lived in that complex for approximately 14 months.

The bungalow complex was no longer receiving tenants, so I moved to a homestay up the hill, away from where my friends, office, and the beach were. It was on the side of a road, but you wouldn’t expect the view it offered. A beautiful and tidy garden with big leaves and a gazebo, overlooking Nusa Penida and the Toyapakeh channel. During quiet nights, I can hear the mosque in Toyapakeh singing the call to prayer, which I attended and started praying again after having a difficult time communicating with God for the past year. This house felt like a much-needed start. Everything was new. New housemates, new area, new motorbike, new money-making side hustle (banoffee pies!), new places visited… You name it. Even a crush so big it was consuming me in a very negative way. The way I spiralled and let it affect my wellbeing. The house was bittersweet, I guess, as it is a place where I actively decided to move on (successfully) from my ex, and learned that I was capable of genuine love again, all under that same roof. After eight months, I moved out feeling loved and grateful, especially for the four walls and the community that came with the house.

When my friend told me he had a room open in his house, I immediately said yes. I am now back near my friends, my office, and most importantly, the beach. I walk along the beach on most mornings with my dog, with my film camera in hand. It’s only been several days, but I am liking living here already with my two housemates who are way older than I am. I have been sleeping pillow-less in this house because the pillows I ordered haven’t arrived yet, but I sleep quite well here. I share a house with three dogs now, and I am teaching Kiko how to share and tolerate one another. I don’t know how to explain it, but this move felt like it was meant to be. The universe demanded me to move out to begin a new era of my life.

I do not know what era of my life this will be… But I am hoping it’ll be a phase where I can be in love again. I miss who I am when I’m in love. Certain people really bring out certain parts in you, and I long for who I am when I’m in love romantically. I know, I know. Not everything has to be romantic. Maybe I will thrive better in my career… Or I’ll gain a new level of vulnerability and closeness with my family… Or maybe, the much-needed increase in capacity for resting and taking time for myself. Resting needs capacity and a safe space too. Either way, I hope I'll be happy and well-rested.

Thanks for taking the time to read all the way down here.