After a visit to my cousin’s house last month and falling in love with the newlyweds’ giant bean bag, I started to think about having a house. Surely, later in the future. I don’t know how late, but the first plan is: to fill it with bean bags and coffee-maker. The idea of having such space to decorate is just tempting. Having my own bookshelf and 100% freedom of choosing wallpaper to cover the wall. Having a proper place for my cameras and a living room full of black and white photographs of places I traveled.
Felany, a female field engineer (a best friend on the rig), said that she also thought about having a house with a fish pond. My mind then flew back home where my mom lives with fancy treasures she’s been collecting since her early years of marriage. Maybe such thoughts naturally happen. Maybe I inherit it from Bunda.
The thing is, having a house might get me attached*, which is not a part of the so so plan A. Early-twenties is the confusing-era of facing too many options and too many possibilities. A friend told me about his friend quitting her job as an engineer and took pilot training in a flight school. Julisa, another inspiring friend told me she’d like to move to Ethiopia as her boyfriend is taking his master degree in UK majoring in “water and sanitation” (I was like, “What? Water & sanitation?”). A directional driller on the rig told me that his son is going to an art school in SF which is visited (and taught?) by people from Pixar & and yes, one of people behind that GTA game. Why wouldn’t I go there someday?
Settling down and having extra-large bean bag is a warming idea, but leaving heart in pieces around the world sounds pretty great too.
Definition: permanently attached to a substrate; not free to move about; “an attached oyster”; “sessile marine animals and plants”