that old house that was home

as i looked through my pictures, i recall the old house i used to live in. that room that was painted a merry green, almost like a manic garden, only flat. the same one that had an old vanity, which rattled by itself in still air. 

i wasn't scared by it. i had loved the old house so.

i'd persuaded a friend to drive past it a few days ago, just to show him where i used to live. what i saw dismayed me: one wall where the balcony was, was gone. the ceiling fan i loved and sometimes stared at before my eyelids got heavy looked like a fly that'd been dragged through hell. the doors were gone, only the painted walls remained.

the tree in the garden that i hated, it was gone. i couldn't see the grass - the perimeters were tarped but i imagine that it must've suffered the merciless rakings of ... of deconstructial rape. how dared they. how dared they!

...only it's not really rape, is it? the house's dead before the indignities happened. the soul's left long before the body's sold. so it's not, right?

...right?

if i had the money, i would have bought the house. kept its mosaicked staircase and parquet floors, the old wooden doors, the little-chipped little driveway and the curlicue gates. and i would plant bamboos. no renovations, no modern-day designs. just this charming little house and me. how i loved that house.

now i live in a little flat, on the highest level of the block. i can see to the nearby towns from here, the roads and streetlamps that lead dramatically to them. it's lovely, a cosy little place, just nice for me and a someone-else. spacious if it's just me. 

but i still miss walking home, the quiet lane that was magic. the cafe that sprung up shortly after i prayed for one, and closed down shortly after i left. the cafe that served hearty pho, the only pizza that's fluffy and light and so obviously cheese-favoured by the cafe owner. she would always give me extra. extra soup, extra cheese, always something extra. and i sometimes would help her with the cafe after work. 

she once matchmade me with an eligible young man - i was too blind to realise -

but that's the past, now. the cafe's gone, replaced by a bike store. the house's gone. i no longer live there but instead, i live in an eyrie. high up, here, where the winds are strong. and this, now is home.