Longing for Luxor

My commitment when I started this blog was that it would be a happy blog, and thus far I have never written anything to merit a tear or anybody's sympathy. However once in a great great while - such as now - I feel compelled to write about something sad. But the sad (or funny) part about it is that it doesn't even concern a person. Nothing romantic or tragic. No deep angst or emotion. No cheating by a lover or unrequited love. No suicidal urges. It is simply about a place. A thing. Four walls. A house. I've grown accustomed to this house.

I live in a spacious high-ceilinged three-story 3-bedroom/5-bathroom (one for each room plus the guest and the servants') / 1 maid's room/1 drivers quarters(which we converted into a bodega or storage room) /1 roof deck /1 medium sized kitchen / 1 reception cum ante-living room area / 1 spacious living room and dining room Townhouse. (My unit is the one next to the unit with the white car in the driveway photo below.) I am one among ten townhouses nestled cozily amidst the woody tree-filled area beside White Cross Children's Orphanage. I call it luxurious luxor. The name is Luxor Villas. It has been a villa of peace and luxury for us. Located right beside the main road - BUT secluded enough in the sense that you would need to go down a long long driveway in order to reach us (click on this google earth image to enlarge). You don't even see us from the road, all you see is a tall peach gate manned by either Mang Rene or the security guard on duty. I hear the orphan kids either laughing and playing or howling and crying when I have my breakfast in the mornings, since at the back of my unit is the tall concrete wall overlooking their nursery. I hear cocks crowing as the sun rises, just like in the province! I hear my gay neighbor Pocholo screaming at his maids, I hear my neighbor's spoiled little girl whining next door. These have been the sounds of my home the past four years.

As the end of my contract approaches (with my contrabidang landlord not willing to extend), I am frantically looking for a replacement. Most that I've seen fall short in comparison, and the few that come close are twice as expensive. Daughter Nikki says that's because our Luxor is a 'fluke'. The broker must have made a mistake in the price four years ago and never corrected it, or my landlord probably didn't care about the potential income lost when he priced it WAY below market value. Whatever it was, I was lucky to get this piece of spacious heaven at rental that I simply CAN'T find anywhere else, something that will probably now just get me a studio in Boni or an up & down in Lot xxx Block xxx Barangay xyz.

And so as we spend our last few days here, I linger just a few seconds longer in each area of my house as I go about my daily routine, I stroke the banisters slowly as I go up the stairs, I breathe the fresh air on my roofdeck, I recline on the sofa in my living room and my heart takes a picture of every corner, every wall. I love, I lust for, I'm longing for Luxor.