How a single, slightly bipolar bachelorette found roommates
I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for my three-week hiatus from writing, but things have been quite hectic over here in the fragrant harbor.
I’ve been taking a far more “fluid” approach to my career goals these days. When I first moved here in January, I had hoped to become a beat reporter or weekly columnist of such caliber that I would eventually mature into one of the scotch-swilling superstars I so admired and often spotted at the Hong Kong Foreign Correspondents’ Club. Instead, I am a regular in many of the waiting areas and lobbies of publishing companies and educational institutions, so skilled at being rejected in fact that I often nurse my bruised ego by sipping box wine at home on my sofa and drowning my sorrows in Jersey Shore reruns. The good news is that I never have to do this alone anymore. Thanks to my wonderful new roommates, I now have constant kick-ass company that pretty much cancels the “pity” out of these self-indulgent couch parties I’ve been throwing for myself.
On the first of this month, I officially moved into my new four-bedroom apartment in Tin Hau with three good friends. I first rolled into Hong Kong hell-bent on living the way I had been for the last few years, as a slightly bipolar bachelorette who did whatever she wanted, whether it was eating Thai takeaway in my bathtub or blasting Paramore at 3 a.m. while painting portraits. The reality of my situation, however, is that Hong Kong rent for singles is pretty ridiculous, especially for those like myself who lie about their master’s degree so they can get work as professional temps to pay bills. The best thing to do, really, is to share a flat with someone. I had already tried living with a stranger, which unfortunately didn’t work out. That was when I decided to move in with Steve, my nearest and dearest in Hong Kong.
Hunting for apartments with Steve might have been one of the most frustrating experiences ever. It is ridiculous how many twosomes in this city are scrambling to rent, and even more vexing how most of them are down to price you out of a flat if they really want it. Luckily, just as we were about to give up and return to our not-so-awesome living situations — me to watching Filipino variety shows with my Jesus-loving flatmate, Marina, and Steve to bunking with random backpackers at the Hong Kong Hostel — we learned that two of our good friends were also looking to move into a new place.
Steve and I met Pollyanna when she started going out with our friend, Sailor Moon (nicknamed so because of a costume he wore for the entirety of Hong Kong’s rugby sevens weekend), in February. After copious amounts of cabernet sauvignon, I bonded with her over childhoods spent playing outdoors, past heartaches and a shared wanderlust that eventually brought us both to Hong Kong. I met her younger brother, Hunter, shortly after, when he moved to Hong Kong from South Africa. I ran into the two at my favorite bar in Lan Kwai Fong while they were on the Hong Kong Pub Crawl, which I ended up crashing for the rest of the night and as a result, phoned Steve at 8 a.m. from a Wan Chai hotel room so I could get my bearings before stumbling into work. I will forever regret that wicked hangover, but nonetheless still feel it was worth it because that night was the first of many spontaneous run-ins that eventually turned into deliberate hang out sessions.
We were on Sailor Moon’s pub quiz team ever other Wednesday night. Steve and I would come over to chill out and drink cans of Tsing Tao on the rooftop of the two siblings’ Mong Kok studio flat (which they called “the shoebox,” both fondly and disdainfully). I went to the beach with Pollyanna on Mondays, her day off from teaching English and working as a kindergarten teacher. Steve made Hunter his plus one when he had to review a movie for the magazine he works for. We learned that the lease on their shoebox was up around the same time I had to move out of my hologram-Jesus-shrine-in-the-living-room Tsim Sha Tsui flat. Naturally, it seemed a better idea to all move in together instead of pair off and battle against everyone else in Hong Kong for our own two-bedrooms. Rent would be cheaper, the flat would be bigger and we hung out with each other all the time anyway.
As our luck would have it, Steve’s girlfriend Hayley introduced us to her realtor, who hooked us up with a massive four-bedroom apartment on Electric Road in Tin Hau, a trendy district on the Hong Kong island full of affordable flats and cheap eats. We decided to take it immediately after we saw it. I spent the next two weeks hustling for free, secondhand furniture and appliances on several online forums and managed to wrangle two sofa beds, a dining table and chairs, a fridge and some mattresses. Pollyanna’s friends from work put us in touch with movers and on May 31, Hunter and I got into a massive truck with these guys and drove all over Hong Kong to watch them pack up, move and put together furniture at our new flat at ninja speed. Steve, Hayley, Sailor Moon and Pollyanna met us at the apartment that night with beer, wine and whiskey in tow, and we christened ourselves the Electric Avenue Crew.
It’s been three weeks now and I don’t think any of us could’ve made a better choice of where to live and whom to live with. Sure, there are a few things we still need to work on, like being better about cleaning and motivating each other to get off the couch, but to me, stuff like that’s small potatoes when you live with people you’re really comfortable with. So far, the dynamic between us has been nothing short of amazeballs. Pollyanna, I would say, is our leader. She makes sure we pay the bills on time and makes it a point that we have regular fun, family outings. One day it will be staying in to play board games, another it will be day drinking on a public holiday and crashing an outdoor rave. Hunter and I mostly handle the food, taking regular trips to City!Super to stock up on noms for the apartment. He also acts as my sous chef for family meals. Since we are both currently operating on part-time work schedules (he teaches part-time and I spend these days moonlighting as a caterer), there are days where our sole responsibility is to “guard the flat,” which in all honesty involves spending most of our time fused to the couch, watching TV shows on my laptop. Steve and Sailor Moon (who sleeps over so often I consider him one of my roomies as well) do a lot of the tidying up. A big chunk of our nights are spent just hanging out with each other and our close girl friend we call Gibbler, after Kimmy Gibbler on Full House. Gibbler lives three blocks away in Fortress Hill and is always over, but unlike her television counterpart, we actually look forward to her visits because she does so toting fast-food goodies and random presents for us.
We threw a Mexican fiesta-themed housewarming and birthday party for Pollyanna two weeks ago, which I imagine will be the first of many to come. I, for one, am looking forward to it, but until I find a job that will enable me to chip in for another rager, I’m totally cool with just squeezing in next to my roomies on our secondhand Ikea couch to share Franzia out of a box and watch Game of Thrones. Which makes me realize that I’ve actually got no reason whatsoever to feel bad about my life.
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E-mail the author at Francesca.ayala@gmail.com. She’d a like a few suggestions for their next theme party.
