A house is not a home

I moved to my present flat in July 2005 in order to preserve my sanity. My partner had stopped speaking to me in February, without even explaining the reason why. This uncertain situation devastated me because I had no inkling whatsoever that our relationship was in any trouble. He just upped and went away. That time I was occupying a one-bedroom flat that I was renting for $110 a month. Not a bad deal actually, considering that it was furnished, as most flats here in Cambodia are.

I went to Manila in March and put on the bravest face in front of my family and friends. When I returned to Phnom Penh in April, the last nail was driven into the coffin. When this happened, I didn’t get out of bed for a week, didn’t go out of the house for about three weeks, and I turned off my mobile phone. However, I soon found out that staying in my flat proved more tormenting. When we were together, he would spend the night 3 or 4 times a week. He would come over anytime during the week unannounced, which I didn’t mind–and we would spend hours just hanging around, making out. Each little corner of my little flat has been indelibly marked by his presence.

So when he was gone, I felt haunted. I would see him at every turn, more so when I was punch-drunk. Soon after I started getting funny ideas about ending it all either by going back to the Manila or just ending everything right then and there. The only thing that roused me from my stupor was the barrage of job offers that fell on my lap. I realized that working is an excellent way to cope with depression, compared to let’s say, Zoloft (which I almost took, upon a friend’s advice).

So I worked and worked my ass off until I could almost forget that I was miserable. My bank account got fat. I had rebound sex with many guys. Did a few drag shows (another story). But still, whenever I went home, my heart would sink so deep within my body I feared it would drop to the floor eventually. I knew I had to move out of that flat soon.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. At that time, because of the increasing amount of work that was coming my way, I needed a bigger working space, and I found that my finances could handle a two-fold increase in rent. Fortunately, a friend knew of an apartment that had just become available and when we checked it out, it was perfect for me. Two rooms, one bathroom, one large living room, and an L-shaped verandah that ran along the side of the flat. Air conditioners in all rooms of the house, furnished, a stone’s throw from the Philippine embassy, in an upscale neighborhood. These things made up for the disproportionately small kitchen/dining room.

I quickly made a deposit and moved in. And I have been staying here for more than 2 years and I have no plans of moving out. My landlord and I have a good relationship. Whatever I ask for, he provides right away. However, right from day one I had wanted to do something with the house. I like the fact that the ceilings are high, so I have big walls that I regard as a canvas. Unlike my first flat, this new place aroused my interest to decorate.

This, however, turned out to be a very slow process, in the two years I have been living here what I managed to do was to replace some furniture with pieces I bought on my own, which were mostly restored Cambodian furniture and some Balinese pieces I got from a local importer. I got really busy with work. I also reunited with my ex 8 months after moving into this new flat. That, however, merits a story of its own, which I hope to share at another time in the future. It was only this year that things began to move at a faster rate: I had managed to have some of my drawings, posters and photos framed. I bought reproductions in Saigon. When Kaloy arrived from the Philippines, he helped me execute my design for the living room. The photos compare the living room and hallway back in 2005 with its present state.

I had one wall of the living room painted red, installed a couple of shelves, and hung two Chinese lanterns on the corner.

I filled the bare hallway with a few pieces of furniture and hung paintings and photos on the wall.

I am satisfied with how it turned out, even if the painting process got protracted because Kaloy’s method was trial and error, and had to adjust with his ‘moods’ also. Now my flat feels more like my home, if only because I had put my stamp on the place. Marked my territory, so to speak. The work, however, is not finished yet. I intend to have 1 wall of the 2 bedrooms and the kitchen painted also. Blue for my bedroom, green or purple for my home office, and orange or yellow for my kitchen/dining room. There are still many things to be done, and I hope to have the time (and money) to do them all.