Cirrus Cloud on Play: Moved

Three Mexican men surround me. Juan who speaks perfect English, Luis who speaks some and Fernando who speaks nada.

They are in my house decorating our new apartment. Yes, we moved again. This is our fifth move in three years (including two international moves). I loathe moving; it is like a virus which always succeeds in breaking down my immune system.

This move is technically the simplest as we moved four floors above where we used to live and we have a private elevator which opens up into the apartment.

However, a move is a move. I still needed to pack, unpack and repack (not necessarily in that order). The big items like sofas and tables are always the easiest: bulky but not difficult. The worst are the small things: paper clips, paperwork, pending bills, small cosmetic bits and bobs.

The most annoying category, in my opinion, is "miscellaneous." The items float suspended in the air, in limbo, in no man’s land. It reminds me of the stretch of road between Singapore's Tuas causeway and Malaysia. That particular stretch of road seems to belong to neither country, its jurisdiction appears to be in question. If anything happened to you on that piece of land, you better pray that someone will take care of you.

“Miscellaneous” is a category that we classify for the things that do not fit well anywhere else. That’s me. I always found that I was a “miscellaneous” item in Singapore. I fit in awkwardly. I do not really belong and yet I do. I think the saving grace is family and close friends. Still, I bear the burden of not sharing the same thoughts as many. I have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying something too controversial. My dry humour offends people. I have been accused of being too bitchy when my sole intention was to amuse.

And so I am sipping my morning coffee, listening to Cuban music, speaking to my newfound acquaintances, explaining what needs to be done in Spanglish. I could not have done that in Hong Kong or Singapore where we moved from the last two times. This is by far the most stressful move as I have no help at all, but at the same time, it is the most liberating.

I love my solitude. I fear that I might be a hermit soon. It reminds me of singlehood when I used to hang out with the trio – me, myself and I. We hung like best buddies, inseparable. We watched movies together, sipped copious amounts of coffee, and sat at bars listening to live music. I missed them and they missed me too.

I needed to tear myself away from Singapore to find myself once again. I also found God again and thereby found my inner peace as well. All these great moments are happening but I still cannot escape from intermittent bouts of acute loneliness attacks at times. I have no one to hang on to in this country, except a busy traveling man.

Last night, I had a terrifying dream. I am sure it is caused by the fresh coat of paint, which made me hallucinate. I did not sleep well, am knackered, dark circles and all, but still trying to cope with silly adulthood responsibilities with no one to delegate!

“Fernando, no no. Mi esposo lo quiere aquí, no allí. Sí, pinta aquí por favor.” Juan runs to help with the position of the bed and instructs Fernando to paint behind the bed. Duty calls. I have to run along now but I have a few last words before I pen off.

I love you, New York City. I will always be grateful, Lady Liberty, for the experience and opportunities. You will always be special in my heart.

I am moved.