You might have been informed. Then again, it's not really a richly guarded military secret that I is got new house. I'm moving. In little over two weeks. To a far flung jungle, the same district I love to loathe. Boon Lay. Whether it is really a boon or will anything will be laid is still left to see.
Those who do know already, know WE [sig. other] are moving out as opposed to just I. Alas, the grand dame of my household reads me too. And in certain matters, the less she knows the more peaceful life can be.
It came after a lot of thought, especially since this idea has been ping-ponging in my head since I first got legally employed with a paymaster who credits money in on the 10th of every month. Like any normal issue, we investigate the socio/political/economic vantages and disadvantages of the impending move.
My mum was pretty non-violent about it though, which is quite surprising. She enquired patiently on the rent, the state of the house, the roomies [none], the housies [phantoms I had to conjure up] and amenities. Convinced that her eldest child is not transferring out to face the Iraqis in the Gulf, she proceeded to fuss over what to take from my place and go. Highly interesting that conversation. And then it dawned on me.
My mother like most Yindian stay-at-home housewives do a lot of investing in the side. Although not on stocks and bonds and shares and warrants, their investing leans more to tupperware, cutlery, pots, pans, cleaning instruments and storage boxes. She also possesses that trait of never wanting to throw anything away. It pains her to throw anything away. Hits her like a mallet that it was an item she did pay good money for but never found a use for. It also pains her to give the stuff away except when extended families require it in dire situations. Now, she finds herself in a position where she needn't throw it away nor give it away, but put it to good use, in my new place. Ah, her clutter problem solved. Nearly. Now all I have to do is sieve through everything she's prepared to part with happily and see if it fits the general architectural and design theme envisioned.
Moving out of your parents' place is quite a horrifying turn of events in the eyes of Asian parents. You better be either getting married, going off to army or dead. Explains why my dad would probably never realize exactly what is happening. The other sibling, for the sole sake of him not attempting to place any claim to my room which I have bequeathed to the youngest. Privy to the move thus is the matriarch and the youngest sibling. So, I brought my brother aside and let him know that in just 2 weeks I'll be gone for good and might only stop by on Sundays since I still have work commitments in Ang Mo Kio [and of course to grab any other essentials I might have otherwise needed to shop for]. It went something like this:
Me: Pssst. Come here I tell you something.
He: Yeah?
Me: I tell you but you can't tell anyone. Only Amma knows.
He: Ok, set, what is it?
Me: I'm moving out. Taking all my things and going. And after I'm gone you can get your own single room and don't have to put up with that asshole anymore.
He: Huh? Why? Oh... you are going to hostel is it?
Me: No. My own place.
He: So you are taking everything and never coming back? Or are you coming back after you finish up with school, in 1 year time?
Me: Never. After that I will go to work from there. I'm really outa here.
He: Anneh don't go.
Me: Why?
He: Please don't go. Then will be left with just him and me.
Me: So, you're 16. Learn how to fight for yourself. And I'm giving you my room. Don't bloody give it up to him just cause he threatens you for it.
He: But he'll whack me. Will you tell him it's for me?
Me: No. Fight for your own things. You don't learn this now, you never will. You want to go everywhere and be the boy whom people bully?
He: Why do you have to go anyway? Here got everything what.
Me: Too crowded here and there's nearer my school.
He: Anneh, are you going cause you hate us?
Me: No la goondu. Now shut up about all this. No one else knows. If anyone else finds out I'll know its you and you get ready for one final whacking before I leave.
He: Nod nod.
So, minor politicking aside I'm on this whole budgeting, planning frame of mind everyday on how best to get there and stay there and not wake up in the middle of the night petrified and going "FUCK! I forgot that!". Praba and a few others have graciously agreed to help me with the initial scrub down process. Sadly, the previous tenant didn't understand the importance of a clean washroom and kitchen. I might or might not host an open house one fine day when I feel like having visitors. Await your visitation pass if you are privileged enough.
Otherwise, all cash and cheque donations and home furnishing [read: IKEA] vouchers are much welcome. Wouldn't YOU like to do up my place? I'll grant you a plaque bearing your name in my living room, behind the door. Grin.
Adieu!
Those who do know already, know WE [sig. other] are moving out as opposed to just I. Alas, the grand dame of my household reads me too. And in certain matters, the less she knows the more peaceful life can be.
It came after a lot of thought, especially since this idea has been ping-ponging in my head since I first got legally employed with a paymaster who credits money in on the 10th of every month. Like any normal issue, we investigate the socio/political/economic vantages and disadvantages of the impending move.
My mum was pretty non-violent about it though, which is quite surprising. She enquired patiently on the rent, the state of the house, the roomies [none], the housies [phantoms I had to conjure up] and amenities. Convinced that her eldest child is not transferring out to face the Iraqis in the Gulf, she proceeded to fuss over what to take from my place and go. Highly interesting that conversation. And then it dawned on me.
My mother like most Yindian stay-at-home housewives do a lot of investing in the side. Although not on stocks and bonds and shares and warrants, their investing leans more to tupperware, cutlery, pots, pans, cleaning instruments and storage boxes. She also possesses that trait of never wanting to throw anything away. It pains her to throw anything away. Hits her like a mallet that it was an item she did pay good money for but never found a use for. It also pains her to give the stuff away except when extended families require it in dire situations. Now, she finds herself in a position where she needn't throw it away nor give it away, but put it to good use, in my new place. Ah, her clutter problem solved. Nearly. Now all I have to do is sieve through everything she's prepared to part with happily and see if it fits the general architectural and design theme envisioned.
Moving out of your parents' place is quite a horrifying turn of events in the eyes of Asian parents. You better be either getting married, going off to army or dead. Explains why my dad would probably never realize exactly what is happening. The other sibling, for the sole sake of him not attempting to place any claim to my room which I have bequeathed to the youngest. Privy to the move thus is the matriarch and the youngest sibling. So, I brought my brother aside and let him know that in just 2 weeks I'll be gone for good and might only stop by on Sundays since I still have work commitments in Ang Mo Kio [and of course to grab any other essentials I might have otherwise needed to shop for]. It went something like this:
Me: Pssst. Come here I tell you something.
He: Yeah?
Me: I tell you but you can't tell anyone. Only Amma knows.
He: Ok, set, what is it?
Me: I'm moving out. Taking all my things and going. And after I'm gone you can get your own single room and don't have to put up with that asshole anymore.
He: Huh? Why? Oh... you are going to hostel is it?
Me: No. My own place.
He: So you are taking everything and never coming back? Or are you coming back after you finish up with school, in 1 year time?
Me: Never. After that I will go to work from there. I'm really outa here.
He: Anneh don't go.
Me: Why?
He: Please don't go. Then will be left with just him and me.
Me: So, you're 16. Learn how to fight for yourself. And I'm giving you my room. Don't bloody give it up to him just cause he threatens you for it.
He: But he'll whack me. Will you tell him it's for me?
Me: No. Fight for your own things. You don't learn this now, you never will. You want to go everywhere and be the boy whom people bully?
He: Why do you have to go anyway? Here got everything what.
Me: Too crowded here and there's nearer my school.
He: Anneh, are you going cause you hate us?
Me: No la goondu. Now shut up about all this. No one else knows. If anyone else finds out I'll know its you and you get ready for one final whacking before I leave.
He: Nod nod.
So, minor politicking aside I'm on this whole budgeting, planning frame of mind everyday on how best to get there and stay there and not wake up in the middle of the night petrified and going "FUCK! I forgot that!". Praba and a few others have graciously agreed to help me with the initial scrub down process. Sadly, the previous tenant didn't understand the importance of a clean washroom and kitchen. I might or might not host an open house one fine day when I feel like having visitors. Await your visitation pass if you are privileged enough.
Otherwise, all cash and cheque donations and home furnishing [read: IKEA] vouchers are much welcome. Wouldn't YOU like to do up my place? I'll grant you a plaque bearing your name in my living room, behind the door. Grin.
Adieu!
1 comment:
Ur in boon lay now?Welcome to the neighbourhood....hope ur liking it
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