The last time we last talked, I was blathering on about renovations I had planned for my apartment. This has been almost a year ago now. The renos are done, and I love the new place. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to take any photos. But if you use your imagination, I’m sure you will take a deep breath and congratulate me.
It was a rough few weeks, but in the end, absolutely worth it. Tina Tuna, who had ended up a casualty from all of this as she stayed with Trung’s dad for the most of it, has gained an inexplicable amount of weight. Trung’s dad essentially gave her non-stop treats and free-fed her Fancy Feast for a month.
“I don’t think she wants to leave,” Trung’s dad said quietly in Chinese on the day we came to take her back home.
People now think she is pregnant and she has trouble rolling over her big belly when she cleans herself. I feel mostly guilty, but not really ashamed. Her portly shape is quite cute.
In other news, I’ve also been meaning to talk about some other little revelations. Particularly, one that has spent a large amount of time swimming in my head.
I’ve been thinking about life priorities for the past little while. I think it’s because I’ve been forced to rethink and overhaul my financial plans. It started with whether or not a renovation was worth it, and it had somehow become a year-long reflection on what it means for me to be happy.
For the most part, I think I followed more or less the same variations of footsteps as people my age. Graduate school, get a job, fill a house with garbage from Ikea. Maybe save up for a car.
One of the things I’m proud of, despite the weird grown-up-old-lady image it conjures, is my mortgage. I still have a long way to go, obviously, but I am more than aware that I’ve been very blessed with being able to carve out a tiny piece of Vancouver for myself.
It’s a strong reminder of my decision to grow roots here in Canada, and a realistic indicator of how much it takes for me to be as responsible as possible. It weighs me down by just the right amount. Enough to make me feel grounded, but not so much to make me feel trapped.
This year put a lot of that into focus for me, as I went home to Manila again twice. Last year was both for Ivan, a year of very harsh revelations and stark conversations with people I love, and people I didn’t even know I loved so much.
In contrast, this year’s homecoming trips were for two happy occasions. Two weddings: one, of Ivan’s older brother, who is much like a brother to me also; and another, my oldest sister, who I thought deserved so much of the pomp and pageantry her wedding entailed.
The decisions to come home for family instilled various bouts of reflection for me. Perhaps due to the 15+ hour flights to Manila, where you sit in the darkness and static amongst others, lost in the sea of weird interconnectedness surrounded by various degrees of emotional separation.
It was maybe during those flights where I thought the most about what I wanted to get out of my work and life. The same way I had asked myself questions like, “Do I really need these three jackets, none of which I have worn in the past five years?”
Did I really need to work to get to a million dollars (as a random, outrageous number) a year? What the hell would I even do with a million dollars?
After all of what’s happened in the past two years, the shit inside my house just didn’t seem as important or felt like they deserved dramatic decisions anymore. I found myself wanting less stuff and looking for more things to achieve.
What were the main things that were important to me at this point?
- I wanted to be able to fly to Manila at least once a year.
- I wanted to be able to pay off my mortgage each month at a minimum.
And one of the things I realized was that these were relatively simple goals for a year. If I just shut up about getting a new sofa or getting a bigger television, I’d immediately have enough funds to put towards a two-week trip to Manila. All the rest could go to my mortgage, and I’d be looking at a 10 year amortization rather than 30.
And that was pretty much it. I didn’t want a fancy Lexus car. I really hate driving anyway. I’ve given up the idea of owning a giant 60″ television because that is crazy. Like, actually crazy. I didn’t need a matching dining table set because the $240 table I got from Craigslist is a beautiful piece on its own, scratches, rusty legs and all.
Even my battle with this fucking sectional sofa had lost its zing.
Things around the house get old. I’ve done enough laundry and ruined enough shirts to know this now. After a while, wool sweaters lose their rich blackness, the chrome rubs off metallic edges, and the glass chips in little unnoticeable pieces.
In contrast, being able to fly to Manila with Trung for the first time was one of the best experiences of my life. He got to meet my loving family, my fantastic grandparents, and witness things that I could only tell him about (and he assumed I was lying).
The other day, as he and I lounged around the apartment watching Netflix, he turned to me absently and said, “It’s weird because it’s only been a few days since we got back, but I kind of miss the Philippines.”
I looked up from my knitting and gave him a big smile.
“I don’t know,” he continued. “It’s just that a lot of things about you finally make sense to me.”