Makeshift Tents and Homeward Bo(u)nd
I used to think that I can fit large amount of people in my heart, as a matter of fact — I was guided with a simple prescription of “Well, at least offer them a space, a safe one in which they can make a safe haven of”. But, this whole building-a-room for-people-I-came-across-with is a somewhat tricky business, since I too, include a whole to-do list to keep the room alive, well, and on top of it all, occupied. The space I built is not a makeshift tent, I always intend to make it a home.
It is a tiresome, but acutely vital projects that I think will last a lifetime (still do). I enjoy(ed) visiting them one by one, making appointments with the person that occupies it, and once the meeting ended, we parted ways by the door.
Lately, I, oftentimes, found myself standing alone in what I thought the most important rooms I have ever built. The rooms were decorated with intimate paraphernalia, charged with emotional significant. The remnants of the day stood still, beside me. The tenants of these rooms came here often, we shared life’s milestones together. I can recognized their footsteps and knocking-sound instinctively. I thought some of them will stay for long.
Some of the tenants however, stopped coming in different ways. A batch gradually lessen their visits, even though I begged them to stay (I did multiple embarassing passive-aggressive manoeuvres). Another batch, just stopped visiting without a hint of notice one day. Both acts leave me confused and terrified — confused on 1) What went wrong? 2) Which buttons on the wall have I pushed too often? 3)Which boundaries at the backyard have I violated times over? — also terrified of the fact that human bond is that fragile. Everything can shift in an instance (pain!) or gradually (still, pain).
Some came over, long after leaving the room unoccupied. I still welcomed them to the room with great delight, knowing that it is still beautiful to have met and intertwined in the past. But, the room felt different. The people in it might come together, agreed to cocooned themselves in the same confined space, but they gave up on the idea of making it a den. The heater was not on, the pillowcase needed changing, the light was dim — the air was cold. Interactions were conducted in a cordial and denial manner. Cordial, as a sign of respect to the bond of the past. Denial, to the ruptures of the present. The safe haven has become unbearable. It will be that, always, until one breaks away from the cordial state and/or one decides to start fixing the ruptures — and/or both.
There are days when things that belong to a room appear suddenly in front me. It might be a song track, a funny anecdote about swimming lesson, or an excerpt on the back of an old postcard.
(to be continued.)
