When we first moved in to our current place last year, we had little idea on what to do with the big open space. The living hall looked empty and dead. We were broke, I was out of job and MN was literally hanging by the thread with his ex-company. It was the end of Ramadhan and our first Eid Mubarak was spent in total humbleness.
We don’t have many things with us as far as I can remember. Stuff from MN’s old apartment, my books, a few hand me downs and our collection of palettes. We practically have nothing except for our love to be brought in to the house.
And the house. It was our savior. Our light at the end of the tunnel. It gave us a place when we had nowhere to go. The night when we first moved in, we slept on the floor covered in our favorite blanket surrounded by piles of boxes and our two kitties at the end of our foot. The place felt ten times bigger than what it really was.
But it’s growing. Our house now homes all things inherited, gathered and assembled. The TV area has two new friends: a pair of lovely used wing chairs and a vintage coffee table that MN rescued one evening. We had rescued curbside furniture countless time and turn them sidewalk-casts into beautiful possessions.
My fixer of things also built lovely benches and a table from salvaged woods that suit well with the overall vintage-industrial look. Our home is adventurous. My idea of a dream home has always been one that is filled with love, ideas, creativity and passion. With some tenderness of re-use and re-purpose of things, of course.
I want to have kids here. I want to make birds and owls, boats and ships, whimsical cardboard castles. I want to see my petunias growing wild again comes January. I want MN to continue his woodwork for the house and invent many other creative things.
And most importantly, I want number eleven to keep on reminding me that every cloud has a silver lining.
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