We sold our house on the plateau overlooking the Metro to permanently move into the heart of it.
It wasn't a rash decision, being something my husband and I had talked about for many years. Even before the pandemic, we were no longer living at home on a daily basis.
But it made other people sad.
I guess I am really strange, because I had moved several times in my life and I don't recall being sad. Or maybe I just conveniently forgot about the sadness.
What I do remember is being happy and excited.
First move
When I was small we moved from our house (one my mom's parents had given her as a wedding present) to an apartment that belonged to my mom's sister. I didn't question the reason or the need for the move, for sure I was then too young to do so.
This move though, had something that made me sad. It included using this brown car that I did not like. I remember telling the family driver to drop me off a distance from where my friends were because I did not want them to see me in that car because I was ashamed of it because it was ugly. Much later on, I found out it was a highly respected European car brand -- actually, it was a Renault.
But in terms of the apartment/house itself, I was simply excited about the new rooms and spaces.
Second move
I also remember moving to another aunt's house. This was even more exciting. They had a big yard. And a colored television! Something like this
I don't recall being sad about moving to that house, what I remember is getting sick and having to move from an upstairs room to a downstairs room, and pass through the living room where my eldest sister was having a teenager's party.
But I was not happy then because I was sick, and I did not want to bother her party. The rest of the time, I was happy.
Third move
Then there was a move to my grandmother's downstairs house. Still on my mom's side. My father's family was in Mindanao. And thinking about it now, those moves were probably because of him, so we would not have been moving in with his family. My parent's eventually separated in fact, became legally separated, and obtained a Declaration of Nullity from the Catholic Church. But that's another story. Back to my house moves.
Moving to my grandmother's downstairs house was exciting. There was an even larger yard, a "nipa hut", a pond with crossing stones, and a secret garden. There was a large Calachuchi tree that let us climb to the roof -- in our own home there was a malunggay tree that let us access the roof, so we spent quite some time on the roof, especially when we were running away from our dad's mother's punishments, but that's another story too.
Two memories in my grandmother's downstairs house and her roof were getting burnt by the Bhagwan (TM) water heater and sitting on the roof watching the house across the street go up in flames and feeling the heat. Hot memories.
Final move
Our next move was to our new house that our grandmother had helped my mom build on another aunt's property. My mom had wonderful sisters, and I still have three wonderful aunts up to this day who continue to support us with their love and prayers. And I'm sure my mom and her sister with her in heaven are both praying for us and loving us till too!
Of course moving to our own new home was exciting. It was big! There were big stairs. It had tile floors and "anay" finish walls. and large windows. The room I shared with my twin looked over the garden and had two big cabinets, shelves and drawers. It was a happy room!
So, no, moving houses when I was a child did not make me sad. I didn't dwell on what I was leaving behind. Or at least I don't remember being sad about it. I know I never questioned my parents about the moves. But thinking about it now, maybe I should have. And maybe I should have been more of a support for my mom.
What about you? Have you had to move as a youngster? How did it make you feel?
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