Two weeks ago, my grandmother decided that it was time, that the ceiling in my room should be repaired. You see, I live in my grandmother’s house – an ancestral house – and my room was my father’s room when he was still a child, and my cousins and their family stayed in this room for a while before getting a place of their own. Since the room has been unused for quite some time, I decided to ask permission if I can use it as my own, considering the fact that I have been sleeping with my parents ever since I was born. I occupied this room just a year ago and whenever my mom or dad is on a business trip away, I would stay with my parents’. I’d also like to point out that my grandmother’s house is right beside my parents’ house, but we live in one gate, and we eat together in the main house so there are no boundaries within the family, except for the structure itself.
My room had a white-tiled ceiling where some of the thin strips of wood are slowly peeling off of it. My walls had a white coating, along with a few coats ripped, and wooden planks for flooring with a layer of plastic (the plastic is coming off and it is a bit uncomfortable if you walk unevenly with “polished” and “not polished” wooden floor. Also, my room is the second storage room in the house. Here lies all my uncle’s trophies, my grandmother’s incredible collection of novels (it’s more than a hundred, I tell you), and luggage bags and suitcases along with boxes filled with computer-related stuff. The problem with my room is that the ceiling started to leak whenever the rain would pour heavily. The leak wasn’t that big but you know what they say, if you don’t take care of little things, they’ll turn into big problems.
It was around 10 in the morning when I got the news to get all my important things and get out of my room because the workers will start taking off the entire ceiling. So I grabbed my school bag and filled it with a filler notebook, all my essential needs and important items (cellphone, school ID, eyeglasses, etc.) and took two books with me while the rest of my stuff that was left were covered with blankets. I expected that the job would be done in two, maybe three days tops. So while my room shall be “murdered” then fixed, I will sleep at my parents’ house.
My parents’ house is no stranger to me. I always go there whenever I like, because I still have half of my stuff there and why can’t I visit my folks every now and then? The house consists of only three rooms: the living room, the bedroom, and the bathroom. Yes, it may be hard to believe but that, my friends, is the house where I grew up and slept ever since I was born. It was supposed to be a small clinic for my grandfather wherein his patients can go right in, but he passed away back when my father was still in elementary; that plan never came true, so they decided to use it as a house instead.
I like staying with my folks; the internet is fast and I don’t have to climb stairs just to drop my bag in my bed. Whenever I stay at my old house, my father would sleep on the couch in the living room, while my mother and I would take the bed in the bedroom. After a few days, I thought that I would be able to go back already, but they told me that the workers will also repaint the walls and the cabinet, but they have to clean first. So I had to stay longer.
As I spend more time with them, the more I remember the times when we would all laugh and play together as we enjoy a movie at home, or whenever we would eat together in the living room while sharing stories of how our day went. Every day, I would sleep before 11 in the evening because my dad sleeps in the living room while I can no longer watch TV nor can I go to social media using my laptop so I would often immediately go to sleep as well. It didn’t bother me because I had nothing important to do during the night.
Today, August 24, my room was finally clean, finished, organized and ready for occupancy again. They painted my ceiling with creamy white, my walls with a darker shade of sky blue, and the cabinet and dresser with a river blue color. The floor is still the same (and most of the plastic is ripped off already making it even harder to pass by) though but everything was more organized than ever. That also means that I can already leave my parents’ house after lunch. But because I still smell a hint of paint odor, I told myself that I would just move in when my folks arrive back home. It was around nine in the evening when my parents arrived home. After going upstairs to check how my room was, I slowly got my stuff and moved it back to my room. It took me four trips to get my things but as I was going back to pick up the last items: my toothbrush, toothpaste, and water bottle, I hesitated to go to my room. To spend a fortnight with my parents really made me happy because I missed the feeling of going to sleep with someone right beside you, protecting you and making sure that no one can ever hurt you as long as they’re around. I still went to back my room because I wanted to prove myself responsible in owning one.
Going upstairs to my room alone made me a bit teary-eyed. I was laughing at myself because I knew that it was just two weeks yet it feels as if I miss them already. I know that I will still see them, eat with them, and talk to them daily, but the feeling of being close with your folks, it’s not the same. But even so, I’m still happy that I got my room back again, and it looks better than ever. I just wish that something would be broken again so that I can sleep with my parents’ again…just kidding! But I would love to just go there and spend a night or two with them. You know what they say: home is where the heart is.