From 28 April 2014
The bedroom door never got fixed. Flung permanently open since the first day we came here a year ago. A chance encounter. Laid eyes on the wide acres of the empty floor and said this will do. A fridge and stove-top as old as my younger brother. Hauled in my little life in three extra large boxes, two ancient chairs and a pair of fossilized side tables, and a pup flown in across the ocean. Then we learn the bathroom floor doesn’t drain well. Haunted constantly by the scent of piss and black mold. Orifices constantly accumulating calcium we have to scrub it every other month. Pipes so old they often spit out other residents at night when we’re asleep. Though I’m still sleeping with the roaches they’re a bit fatter and a wee bit more civilised. A terra-cotta tile balcony facing east with winds blowing across the interior of the building half the year in one direction and out into the one bedroom window with a view to God’s favorite mountain range in the city. When Humabon ran inland they said he hunkered down in one of the caves here beneath the very first mango trees. Tattooed ancestors drink the hard water dripping in from the springs straight from the bosom of the earth. Once in every century a mysterious lady appears from these holes to cure the sick. I crawled into this same corner like an animal ready to die. Parched waiting so desperately for the next check to clear while I ration our last few eggs and sardine cans. Dirt inside my fingers from clawing into the walls. But the black Guadalupe soil was the perfect place to begin again.
Hottest year on record and it’s May once more. Another year older. Ten years ago when I turned twenty I was so looking forward to live out the next decade on the road. Make all the mistakes and take all the detours and the run long way through. I lived it out and left no stone unturned. Dreamed in the cradle of the shotgun seat across many summer highways. I was so excited to become the person I will be. Knew so little and then I saw the world. And there I was finally meeting myself after taking the peaks and nadirs in the interiors of my own personal island. Now we’re here.
I’m getting better at packing my life all over again. This time there’s a rattan side table and a bookshelf coming with me. Plus a few dear friends who made this restful place home under the Tuscan sun. I knew our time in 211 won’t be long but so much can happen in a year. What can happen in the next ten? Won’t try to fix the broken door so I guess I’ll keep it open.