I’ve kept it under wraps for that long. But no more.
As an apartment dweller for the last 18 years, I never imagined myself owning a little bit of soil with a skinny house on top. It still feels strange some times. Like it’s mine but not quite, if you know what I mean. Surreal.
But first, back story. I was in the market for a 3-bedroom apartment, as my current 2-bed-1-bath is rather constricting. When family and friends stay over, the one bathroom is a challenge. I vividly remember my nephew, then 5, banging on the bathroom door when I was washing my hair, or doing the no. 2 or something, screaming, “Aunty! I need to pee pee. NOW!”
I also wanted a more defined home office space. My current “office” is sandwiched between my kitchen and living room and it’s hard to stop work when the workstation is there. In my face. All the time. Whether I’m cooking, eating or lounging, it beckons. And being the workaholic that I am, it’s so dang hard to draw definite lines between work and home. (See a photo of it here) So I began having very real fantasies of a “proper” home office. You know, with my papers and work stuff all in one room and not distributed between my kitchen, guest room and bedroom. That would be perfect and good for my sanity.
I viewed many apartments and even paid a booking fee for one. Then one day out of the blue it hit me. With the price I’m paying for a condominium with fancy facilities, why not get a house instead? It’s not like I ever go swimming in the pool or use the barbecue pits? (Which you should, by the way, if you own a fancy condominium. Slice through the waters and roast hotdogs and sweet potatoes over the fire, to get your money’s worth from the monthly maintenance fees.)
I believe the thought was divine, it was a God-nudge to free me from my own constricting view of life. After the moment of clarity, I was on to houses. The search started end-2016 and in April 2017, I found a house I couldn’t stop thinking about. I viewed many, but it always came back to this one.