I walked around the old apartment the other night and tried to relive the memories we made in the less than 3 years we stayed there. While the old place was the sort of old shabby chic is trying to go for, it had infinitely replenishing dust that made it authentic shabby but less chic. The partner and I moved into that house with the same sort of carefree abandon and wrecklessness reflected by the hinges hanging by single screws abound in that apartment.
It wasn't fancy, but it was cozy. It was an old house with a reputation, and might have been beautiful in its prime but had now seen way too many cheap renovations that chipped off some of the old glamour.
The glass window that broke from Seven (our first cat, one Chris rescued as a kitten) forcing his way in is still broken. But Seven is dead now. And we've seen the fire tree bloom and whither several times through the broken glass too. We left that house with a post full of graffiti, but a bathroom with new fixtures.
This house had seen us change. We were robbed in this house. We wrote plotted filmed and screened movies in this house. We wept in this house, we laughed in this house. Thank goodness there was more laughter than tears.
We conceived Malaya in this house, it became his first home. He'll probably falsely remember it through the footage we have of him in the house but it won't really register as something personally familiar.
We'll wax poetic over how the sunlight washed the dining area in golden hues in the afternoons. Both Chris and I have taken advantage of this particular feature by having portraits taken in that area.
goodbye old apartment, goodbye old fire tree outside, goodbye echavez.
Hello new house.
It's four times as huge, at double the price. There's ample room to raise a family and keep pets. The kitchen is wide and there's a lot of storage space for spices, pots and pans, china, etc etc. There's even a garden (READ: Room for rare spices and fresh coffee!)! I'm so grateful for the previous tenants (tita Janina, tito Alex and tita Lui) and the boy's Mamita and Lola for helping us get this place. We'll take care of the snailhouse, promise.
We've just moved, and already my Pinterest is singing with projects for this place. There are curtains to be sewn (or fabric-glued together); floor mats to be woven; walls to be painted; herbs to be planted... but I'm getting ahead of myself. We'll have time for experiments.
The boy and the cats have taken to the place nicely. Mamita suggested finally getting a walker, since we couldn't find anywhere to hang the bouncer anymore (boo!). But when we went shopping for walkers with the Lola, we found that Malaya had become too big for them.
Also, he might be just days away from walking on his own, considering he's already standing up by himself and bouncing on his feet. It's just great that he has space to crawl around now without running into furniture and power outlets.
In a couple of weeks, Malaya turns 1 and I'll be 25. Moving and the upcoming birthdays has left me with the feeling that this is going to be another chapter in our lives. Tbh, I think I've reached my threshold for life altering events for the whole year until now.
I've launched a small catering service called The Storybook Cook. I've only done cocktails for an exhibit and will be selling small treats for Medieval Day this April 5 to test the waters, so it's not yet a full fledged business. It's called that because I'm serving food mentioned in books and other pieces of fiction i.e. Sansa's Lemon Cakes from GOT, Mrs. Bean's Famous Apple Gingersnaps from The Fantastic Mr Fox, etc.
Cooking is fun. Reading books and trying to live them through the food is even more so. Especially if I'm going to read AND cook with the boy.
I'm excited already.
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