Leaving Home, Lessons Learnt
Home has always been a physical place to me. The term 'home' in my mind is contained within the walls of my childhood home. And the very idea of having to live somewhere else - and having to call that place home seems like some form of betrayal. Thinking about it always left me feeling uneasy.
I, for one, did not exactly have a smooth transition into what would be the next phase of my life. I visited my apartment unit one week before college was to officially begin. Everything was (surprisingly) in good condition, the whole place tastefully decorated - except for the fact that there was this one locked room from which eerie, beeping sounds came from. And guess who got the room beside this mysterious space? That's right, yours truly. Wild speculations by my younger sister and a 9 year old cousin did not help. With cheeky grins plastered on their cherubic faces, they insisted that there had to be SOMETHING sinister inside that had to be locked away from prying eyes. They a little more than subtly suggested that there could be a high probability of discovering a dead body inside. Scenes from Mr. Monk (TV series about a detective) and Roald Dahl's disconcerting account of landladies flashed through my mind. Involuntarily, my hair stood on end.
With every fiber of my being, I wanted to disprove what those little ones had said. Instead, believe them I did - all gazillion atoms of a supposedly rational, mature and composed 18 year old. Back in Penang, I was terribly disturbed and could do nothing much other than obsessively Googling the name of the apartment, trying to stumble upon evidence of its stringent safety measures. I was desperate for anything. Anything that could calm my rattled nerves. Instead, all I came up with was more unnecessary information about how a middle-aged lady apparently committed suicide in one of the units.
Things certainly did not seem any better when of all things, I left my whole bunch of keys AND the access card in Penang. For more than a week, I could only pass through the security doors and get into my unit through the good graces of the guards, residents who were complete strangers to me, or my lovely housemates. Everyone found it ludicrous that I could forget the most glaringly obvious thing - my keys. To be honest, I was madly annoyed with myself - almost disbelieving that I could remember to bring bobby pins for my hair but and little knick-knacks for my room but could so conveniently forget to bring the one thing I needed most. This was how I learnt lesson one: Always have your keys with you. In fact, never leave the unit until all these items have been checked off your mental checklist.
Handphone? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. You're good to go!
One of the biggest challenges about leaving home is the fact that you are entirely on your own. This comes with certain degrees of freedom - but what it really encapsulates is having to settle all your meals and laundry yourself, somehow still finding time to complete all your assignments and be on top of your studies. Having been pampered all my life by Mom's cooking, this was a change that I had a hard time getting accustomed to. The last thing I wanted was to fall sick, and getting enough nutrients was something that I worried about constantly. This explains why the first few days found me making a meticulous inventory of the food I had, followed by attempts to piece the food together to make a meal that was as balanced that it could get. On that note, grocery shopping alone for the first time was an entirely awkward event. I read food labels and handled fruits in an attempt to look adept, when in actual fact, I had no idea what on earth I was looking for. But as they say, there is always a first time for everything. And the best way to become adept is to experiment until you get it. This season of my life was one of many firsts: I learnt how to cut a dragon fruit by way of trial and error. I learnt that canned tuna does not go well with toast bread in the least - and that it is possible to withdraw money from an ATM that is not specific to the bank you are using.
It never ceases to amaze me - the range of lessons I have learnt and experiences I have gained in a mere 3 weeks away from home. There was this one time when I had stayed up doing homework. Suddenly, my peace was broken by a pounding in the kitchen. I jumped up with a start, armed with my trusty craft scissors and headed stealthily for the kitchen, only to find that the noise came from our slightly besotted washing machine which was tumble drying clothes. Then there was the night I attempted to get laundry done past midnight, and ended up clipping my finger in the hinges of the laundry machine door, suffering a temporary blackout. I have had weird conversations with my housemates, the strangest one concerning the fate of a certain money plant in a blue basin that had been bequeathed to us by the landlady: to keep or to throw away?
But there's the bright side too. Like how I have learnt the advantages of living at a substantial height above the ground. For one, you get to spy on your other friends leaving for college in the mornings, which also entails being able to scare your housemate by popping out at the door like a jack-in-the-box the moment she returns, having been able to predict the exact moment she would be at the door.
More importantly perhaps, living in an apartment for the first time has redefined community for me. There is something very special, a certain warmth that comes with the security in knowing that there is life all around you, that we are only separated by the spaces between the cemented walls. I used to dislike the idea of living in an apartment as it seemed to me like being placed in a claustrophobic box. But put those boxes side by side, and you get community.
As I write, orange lights glow from within closed glass doors. If you look into each unit, you are allowed a glimpse into someone else's life. A ceiling fan whirring. An exercise machine. I remember the comfort these lights gave me on my first night alone in this foreign place. I had felt utterly despondent and had opened the windows to see those lights, (evidence that life was still prevalent) and to hear mirthful laughter rising up to my window, crystal clear in the still of the night.
Today I heard myself calling this unit, this foreign box home. The funny thing was, it flowed out of me in a manner that was completely natural, as if the term home had somehow fused with this place and the people in it; they had melded together as one. It occurred to me that perhaps, home is not a physical place. Rather, home is the people, the experiences and more importantly, what you make of it.
BY ELEASHA CHEW
I, for one, did not exactly have a smooth transition into what would be the next phase of my life. I visited my apartment unit one week before college was to officially begin. Everything was (surprisingly) in good condition, the whole place tastefully decorated - except for the fact that there was this one locked room from which eerie, beeping sounds came from. And guess who got the room beside this mysterious space? That's right, yours truly. Wild speculations by my younger sister and a 9 year old cousin did not help. With cheeky grins plastered on their cherubic faces, they insisted that there had to be SOMETHING sinister inside that had to be locked away from prying eyes. They a little more than subtly suggested that there could be a high probability of discovering a dead body inside. Scenes from Mr. Monk (TV series about a detective) and Roald Dahl's disconcerting account of landladies flashed through my mind. Involuntarily, my hair stood on end.
With every fiber of my being, I wanted to disprove what those little ones had said. Instead, believe them I did - all gazillion atoms of a supposedly rational, mature and composed 18 year old. Back in Penang, I was terribly disturbed and could do nothing much other than obsessively Googling the name of the apartment, trying to stumble upon evidence of its stringent safety measures. I was desperate for anything. Anything that could calm my rattled nerves. Instead, all I came up with was more unnecessary information about how a middle-aged lady apparently committed suicide in one of the units.
Things certainly did not seem any better when of all things, I left my whole bunch of keys AND the access card in Penang. For more than a week, I could only pass through the security doors and get into my unit through the good graces of the guards, residents who were complete strangers to me, or my lovely housemates. Everyone found it ludicrous that I could forget the most glaringly obvious thing - my keys. To be honest, I was madly annoyed with myself - almost disbelieving that I could remember to bring bobby pins for my hair but and little knick-knacks for my room but could so conveniently forget to bring the one thing I needed most. This was how I learnt lesson one: Always have your keys with you. In fact, never leave the unit until all these items have been checked off your mental checklist.
Handphone? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. You're good to go!
One of the biggest challenges about leaving home is the fact that you are entirely on your own. This comes with certain degrees of freedom - but what it really encapsulates is having to settle all your meals and laundry yourself, somehow still finding time to complete all your assignments and be on top of your studies. Having been pampered all my life by Mom's cooking, this was a change that I had a hard time getting accustomed to. The last thing I wanted was to fall sick, and getting enough nutrients was something that I worried about constantly. This explains why the first few days found me making a meticulous inventory of the food I had, followed by attempts to piece the food together to make a meal that was as balanced that it could get. On that note, grocery shopping alone for the first time was an entirely awkward event. I read food labels and handled fruits in an attempt to look adept, when in actual fact, I had no idea what on earth I was looking for. But as they say, there is always a first time for everything. And the best way to become adept is to experiment until you get it. This season of my life was one of many firsts: I learnt how to cut a dragon fruit by way of trial and error. I learnt that canned tuna does not go well with toast bread in the least - and that it is possible to withdraw money from an ATM that is not specific to the bank you are using.
It never ceases to amaze me - the range of lessons I have learnt and experiences I have gained in a mere 3 weeks away from home. There was this one time when I had stayed up doing homework. Suddenly, my peace was broken by a pounding in the kitchen. I jumped up with a start, armed with my trusty craft scissors and headed stealthily for the kitchen, only to find that the noise came from our slightly besotted washing machine which was tumble drying clothes. Then there was the night I attempted to get laundry done past midnight, and ended up clipping my finger in the hinges of the laundry machine door, suffering a temporary blackout. I have had weird conversations with my housemates, the strangest one concerning the fate of a certain money plant in a blue basin that had been bequeathed to us by the landlady: to keep or to throw away?
But there's the bright side too. Like how I have learnt the advantages of living at a substantial height above the ground. For one, you get to spy on your other friends leaving for college in the mornings, which also entails being able to scare your housemate by popping out at the door like a jack-in-the-box the moment she returns, having been able to predict the exact moment she would be at the door.
More importantly perhaps, living in an apartment for the first time has redefined community for me. There is something very special, a certain warmth that comes with the security in knowing that there is life all around you, that we are only separated by the spaces between the cemented walls. I used to dislike the idea of living in an apartment as it seemed to me like being placed in a claustrophobic box. But put those boxes side by side, and you get community.
As I write, orange lights glow from within closed glass doors. If you look into each unit, you are allowed a glimpse into someone else's life. A ceiling fan whirring. An exercise machine. I remember the comfort these lights gave me on my first night alone in this foreign place. I had felt utterly despondent and had opened the windows to see those lights, (evidence that life was still prevalent) and to hear mirthful laughter rising up to my window, crystal clear in the still of the night.
Today I heard myself calling this unit, this foreign box home. The funny thing was, it flowed out of me in a manner that was completely natural, as if the term home had somehow fused with this place and the people in it; they had melded together as one. It occurred to me that perhaps, home is not a physical place. Rather, home is the people, the experiences and more importantly, what you make of it.
BY ELEASHA CHEW
2 comments:
I really enjoyed this article Eleasha! I have had so many homes in my life and almost always take note of the first time the word slips out of my mouth in a natural manner after I have moved to a new one! Community is something that can be built anywhere. Thanks for sharing. I would like to share this with our new hostel students that are coming in July if I could!
Oh how i adore this piece you've written. I absolutely love how youve redefined community by way of placing those 'claustrophobic boxes side by side!! I can relate to those experiences, reading your piece makes me reminisce past memories during my time in college in you know where! :-)