Movin’ out

It’s been almost a month since we moved house from Salcedo into our nice new abode. Prior to movin’ day, the place had been under construction for several years – in preparation for my father’s retirement from the hectic work-a-day world of politics. It was also going to be mom’s gift to my sister and me, a home that we had always dreamed of, free from the sights and sounds of politics, as compared with Magnolia’s open-house, Casa el Manay Gina atmosphere. The process had only been sped up by the unfortunate tragedy that ravaged my previous home, as we found ourselves living in a condominium until the sought-after movin’ day.

I admit. I have never been a fan of condominium living, although most people say that it has become the new and modern means to the suburban lifestyle. I quite agree with them on the fact that condos are generally easier to maintain as compared to say, a two-storey household in suburbia. The sales pitch generally lies in its essence of "lock up and go," a convenience most singles, or young married couples would opt for nowadays. Moreover, condos are strategically located within the core of business districts and areas of employment while more notably, a Mini-Stop and a 7-Eleven should not be so far down should the need for necessities arise. Condo living has since become the preferred alternative for the home-seeking Juan de la Cruz as call centers have become the "in" thing in today’s revolutionizing labor market.

On the other hand, I have always believed in suburban living and the concept of having a gate and a garden, and a space of my very own. While condos do grant individuals their own personal space, a condo unit is is space cross-circuited among different other spaces withi n the building, bridged by two or three elevators and common rooms for the infrastructure’s resident pool. There exist inevitable circumstances of space sharing in places like the elevator when you come home tired from school and you want to be alone, but a stranger is glued nearby until he docks at his specific floor. Often times, juveniles who flail about become the accomplices to the crime. Conversely, when you are late for school and you just want to speed off, the elevator is unfortunately stationed on the ground floor, stopping at every level in its ascent while the clock is spuriously-a-ticking. Don’t even get me started with contained noise levels through un-soundproof walls and riding the elevator at 3a.m.

Obviously, personal space has always been of paramount importance to me. Where introversion is okay, pleasing people doesn’t matter, and one can simply kick up his heels and get away from it all, personal space is something I look forward to having at the start and end of each day. Free from the stressful facets and markings of the work-a-day world, personal space grants me the release from the hurry and strife of Metropolitan Manila. And it seems best crystallized in the marvel of having a home. For this yearning eccentric, the concept of home had always begun with a sturdy house – with a gate, a garden, a household, and a self-made mental image of a family bonding in the porch over the Sunday newspaper.

But that’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy condo living for the duration of my stay in Salcedo. Sweet Saturdays had always greeted me with a food fair down the street, serving a smorgasbord of some of the finest dishes in town. Ineng’s had established itself in the area as the prime peddler of sumptuous barbecue, longanisa, sisig and other such tasty Filipino dishes of which I’d always buy a handful of before rushing to Onstage Greenbelt for a Repertory morning show. The space of our apartment had also made it a lot easier for me to call on the help while literally everything seemed within my reach. From the computer to the television set some inches away, the manageable confines of my room knighted me king of that tiny domain. Likewise, sleepovers with friends were always a fun game of Tetris and metaphorically fitting sardines inside a can. Most importantly though, it was in my temporary abode that I forged some of the most remarkable friendships and made the fondest of memories in many a party and get-together with my friends and colleagues, and of course, where theater came into my life.

While it may register as mundane and "so what" to most people, the experience of living in a condo is one that I’ll never forget. And it probably won’t be the last. Heck, I might just be back in the act should I move to New York to pursue further studies, or when I get a flat of my own after rolling along with college blues. In the flipside, it’s back to Suburbia a la Desperate Housewives! And I’m sure as hell relieved to be climbing a staircase once again. Not at 3 a.m., though. Elevator or not, that still creeps me out.

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Catch your breath and let me know what you think at chasingtoff@yahoo.com