So we moved to manfriend’s territory.
And by that I mean that, for starters, manfriend’s brother lend us part of his house so we can save up the rent expense and, hopefully, with that money begin the construction of our own apartment.
This house is… pretty much everything I wouldn’t want of a house. My type of house is just like my type of everything, practical. I have three curves in my back, I want to be able to clean the house I live in and then wake up the next day able to walk.
This house is not only intricate and heavily decorated, but it’s also huge. I don’t know how many square feet this could be because I’m horrible with that kind of thing but, how big is a football stadium? Because this might be two times that. Or maybe three. At least that’s how it feels when I have to sweep the floors and mop them every day. That may wow some people, but I’m not among those people.
When I say intricate I mean, for example, that I have to go up a floor to reach the bathroom. That’s using stairs. I won’t go into details because it won’t make any sense anyway, but UP A FLOOR. When I say heavily decorated I mean, for example, that’s there’s currently two nine feet Christmas trees and their respective ornaments here. One of them is on top of a fake fireplace. And we are in the caribbean, we should never even use the word fireplace.
We are also neighbors of my mother in law, which means there’s a very familiar setting going on here seven days a week, one that I’m not used to. I like my space and choosing if I want to share my time with others or not has become a luxury I can not afford here. That’s a huge sacrifice for me. HUGE. Gigantic. Humongous.
My only comfort is that this sacrifice might be the way to having a place to call home. One VERY SMALL place to make it the home of our family.
Ironically this hill (at the end) is now my front view. I get it karma. Very funny.