My fun hobbies while I am in the US are to look at Open Houses on weekends, and visit antique stores or flea markets where I look for French or English tea cups and plates. You will not understand the intoxication that consumes me when I walk into these lovely homes, and the simple joy that comes with finding a cute English teacup or something unique from Paris.
My interest in looking at homes in the US started 37 years ago when we were staying in San Lorenzo, California with my parents, Baby Oyen, and Edmund. There were numerous free publications dropped in our mail box daily. They included supermarket discount coupons, missing children (which broke my heart every single time I read the flyers), home improvement stores, building contractors advertisements, and magazines selling hundreds of homes which included photos and descriptions.
My eyesight was still clear enough to stare at every 1.5″ x 2″ black and white house photo and read the square footage, how many bedrooms and toilets, lot size, etc.
The curiosity reading about these homes became a quiet contentment, then excitement, then a secret wish to purchase a house in the USA. The wish turned into a dream to own a tiny house. Then a home near my siblings and parents. The journey from curiosity to owning was 25 years. The curiosity didn’t stop. It became a hobby. I still went to Model Homes and Open Houses and enjoyed the viewing every single time. The same joie de vivre is felt while walking through homes until now.
Decades of going to Model Homes and Open Houses, they all impressed me because of the staging done by professional interior designers but none has made me fall in love at the very first sight. I liked 50% of the design, the style, but when I leave, the desire leaves with me.
Except this one.
It has no curb appeal, meaning the facade is not a wow but rather unassuming, partly hidden behind the grown up maple trees that surrounded it. Once I stepped into the foyer, it’s a feeling of mild exhilaration from its subdued elegance. It felt like I’ve been living in this house for a long time. It’s spacious but homey. It didn’t feel grand, it just felt like home. I saw myself sitting in the backyard patio with trellis adorned with fresh vines. I imagined my grandchildren playing basketball in the small side court, or driving their mini cars on the long driveway, my son playing pickle ball, Edmund watching men and women hit balls on hole #7 where the house sits on, the fifth ensuite bedroom on the ground floor, the his and hers custom closets with jewelries and watch drawers, and many more. It ticks many boxes in my ever evolving insatiable list.
There are a few trade offs though. The house is in an isolated community, farther away from my siblings’ houses, it’s 15 degrees hotter because it’s on a valley. My son said it’s impractical because I would only get to stay there two times a year, and that my monthly maintenance costs will double. My daughter said its too much money and sana 10 years ago pa, ngayon kasi we’re older and traveling to the US will soon become fewer.
Simply put, or harshly put, I cannot afford it.
I am currently in a state of fantasy or disillusionment. I think of it day and night. I imagine myself being comfortable there. I have figured out the if and the how but
for practicality reasons, I will drop the thoughts, but so far I have shed three dozens of tears. All of them said it’s up to me.
Dreaming is more exciting because there’s the joy of hope. There’s the word “someday” which keeps me inspired and happy. But giving up is harsh. It makes my eye lids droop and my shoulders drop. It’s putting a period to imagination.
When I told my son that I am obsessed, he said “hindi halata”.
My family teases me that I have a very expensive hobby. I like houses as much as I like plates. Plates are cheaper of course and easy to break. But I cannot compare. Houses are structures where dreams are made or shattered.
