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Thursday, May 12, 2011

Saying goodbye to my first home






Today I say farewell to my first home.
I'll miss so much,
things like my kitchen bench, that just works perfectly to do my book work on,
or the dinning room table, that provides perfect handbag storage
or the hall way, where the cats know their food will be
the view of the Dandenongs from the end window
the verandah, where many a night was spent storm watching
that stupid Bird of Paradise plant that never grew a flower
the ducted heating that hits its perfect temp when the dial is turned half way
my chalk board door
the shower that I know exactly where to position the taps for the perfect pressure and temperature
the open fire place that hosted nights full of laughter and love
the pantry that still holds food from when we moved in
the seat out the back, next to where Scruffy and Gi Gi rest in peace
the beautiful garden, that we built from scratch
the twisting, one lane dirt road

theres a lot that I'll be happy to see the back of too
holes in the walls that are constant reminders of pathetic arguments
dust - the joys of an unmade road
those horrible black beams that make you feel like theres a weight on your shoulders
the top of the stairs where I screamed in emotional pain, and was belittled for it
the kitchen floor and the orange juice incident
the memories - the majority of which are heart wrenching
the driveway where Scruffy lay before Steve ran him over
the memories of lost animals
the broken air con
this

The second we walked into "rumah manis" (Balinese for "sweet home") I knew it was "the one"
I marveled, thinking that this was the type of house I envied my friends living in, when I was growing up, and now it was mine, we spent all our spare time making the gardens beautiful, and they really were, they were the most beautiful in the street. We painted the inside and out, and when Steve got an idea in his head, he'd just do it, like ripping up the verandah and extending it. Usually I'd dread it, but he'd always do a great job. We had so many animals born here, and die here, and many of which will remain :(
But it was bloody hard work too, too much land, the dust destroyed everything, and it was getting old.

It's time to move on now, to make new memories (and learn from past ones), to find a new place that works perfectly for my book work, to find a home that wont involve me driving to it every night with terrible anxiety - for fear of what I'll be met with, a place that I get to decorate the way I want, a place that my friends and family will actually feel comfortable visiting.

There's an ocean full of tears to get through today, but then I'm going to pull my socks up and see all the positives that will be gained from this and concentrate on them. Bare with me.

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