Can I Please Put Laida and Majah in my Bankers Box?

They say the 4 most stressful life changes are starting a new job, moving house, getting married and having a baby. This year, I attempted to accomplish the first 2. At about the same time.

Moving house and moving to a new job are similar. Both involve the purchase of cardboard boxes and a lot of paper work. Both decisions will earn you unsolicited advice from family and friends, and mixed reactions, usually preempted by some version of “So, what made you decide to do it?” And despite the fact that both decisions may be right, good, and even necessary, you still feel trepidation taking the first step. This was true both for my move to my new condo and my move to my new job.

But what if your office has become your home? Not in the workaholic sense of spending so much of your time there, but in the sense that it is filled with memories and cherished people. In the sense that the office has provided comfort and has become a place that you call your own. Where do you get advice for that?

It was hard to decide to leave my office, my home, because of who I would leave behind. Laida and Majah and I have been known as a trio for the last 5 years. I wish I could I pack and take with me memories, the gazillion girl talks we’ve had, the many out of the country trips, the after-work rants at Powerplant , the unwavering and unflinching defense of each other against our common enemies (haha) and the warm, fuzzy, safe feeling I get just knowing that they are a few steps from my room or a pop-up message away.

I take comfort in the fact that I’m leaving when our friendship is stronger than ever. It’ll be hard to get used to not seeing them everyday, but I’m looking forward to getting together with them for dinner. Maybe we can still go on trips together; just us, no bosses.

Some people say home is a feeling, not a location. The office became my home because of the friendship I shared with my 2 partners-in-crime. This gives me hope that the next time I see Laida and Majah, it will be like I never left.

First Post: Letter to My Old Apartment

(I think it's appropriate that before I start telling you about my new place, I pay tribute to my old one. 2109 was my home for two and a half years, and it served me well.)

Dear 2109,

When I first met you, you were a dingy, dark, wallpapered mess. You were old and had never been renovated. I settled for you because you were reasonably priced, close to the office and in a nice enough building. After moving in, I took on the task of making you mine. I repainted. I refurbished. I hung art on your walls. The end result was a cheery, yellow-walled, comfortable place for me to come home to every night.

What you lacked for in face value, I made up for by making sure you were spic and span all the time. Oh, how clean you were! I felt terribly responsible for you so I made sure your floors were swept, your bathroom was spotless and your kitchen well-stocked and pest-free. You were a pampered, spoiled apartment.

Little by little I filled you up with my things from home – my photographs, favorite DVDs and a whole lot of books. A lot of things I bought for you, specifically – my Make Room shelving and storage equipment, all the kitchen and dining stuff, and stupid appliances like my handheld iron and dehumidifier. My first Christmas with you, I won a TV in the office raffle and excitedly set it up front and center in the bedroom. Of course, you got the requisite hand-me-downs that a lot of first apartments get. Your microwave and dvd player (the first one anyway) were donated from home, Mama gave that Indian/Balinese tapestry thing and Lola brought over Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal.

Coming home after a hard day was a joy. You were near enough to the office that I still had the rest of the night to relax. Your pleasures were simple – solitude, silence, independence. On weekends, you provided proximity to my best friend’s house, which came in handy on many occasions when I needed her (or she needed me).

There were bad times. When you were broken into and my laptop was stolen. When my neighbors 5 doors down would fight and scream at each other all night. When the water heater in the shower would break down every 2 months. But mostly you were good to me.

I liked that you were a rental. Everyone said I was wasting my money, but for me, it was a practice run for having and maintaining my own place. My time with you was the first measure of independence in my otherwise pretty sheltered life. And so you witnessed my attempts to master my microwave and toaster oven, trying to cook and bake to feed myself in your teeny kitchenette. After a while, I felt confident enough to feed people the food I prepared. You saw me diligently scrubbing the bathroom tiles. For you, I scoured the internet on the best way to declog a kitchen sink. My closet was organized and reorganized so many times (well, also because I have so much clothes). I went all Monica Geller on you at times, and if I got carried away with the toxic cleaning stuff, I’m sorry. After my 2 and a half years with you, I have deemed myself ready to buy my own place.

And so in a month (knock on wood), I will move into my 2nd apartment. This time, it’s my own. Hopefully, it will be as comforting to me as you were. I will probably stay longer there, learn more things, make more memories. It will probably be harder too. This time, I really feel like I’m leaving my family home (but that’s another story altogether).

Goodbye, 2109. Thanks for the memories and the lessons. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll miss you. But deciding to live in you was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my short life so far. I’m sure that I’ll love you forever.