RO ON REDEFINED SPACE

CRAVING CONSTANCY. WOOING CHANGE.

Once, my life was a pancake that was constantly being severed from its griddle, turned over – and over again. Once, my life was three fluffy egg-whites on Teflon, refusing to stick. Imagine the chemistry of my brain, the constant high I was on, because my space was in a continuous state of redefinition.

Perhaps living two lives – in diametrically opposite circumstances – gave me a certain internal richness? Perhaps I was bitten by the-grass-is-really-greener-on-the-other side syndrome? One was single and carefree although in a full-time job; the other, married and delightfully captive. One was in the Northern Hemisphere; the other in the South. One was in swelteringly tropical weather; the other in foggy howling cold. One was in my own home within the boundaries of my individual space; the other in a shared apartment with a girlfriend. One was in a city I craved changes in every time I returned. And the other was in a city I wanted sameness from, to be exactly where, and how, I left it.

In the two years I was doing this, I began to notice some key differences in the way this redefined space affected those around me. My flatmate in Singapore really welcomed my visit every three weeks, because my presence redefined her space as well. She’d originally rented a two-bedroom flat anticipating living there with her fiancé, and then they’d broken up. So now it made for the perfect balance – not too lonely, not too crowded.

In San Francisco, I’d dropped off people’s "calendars", as many didn’t really want to “invest” any more time in a friendship with me, given I wasn’t "available” or “dependable” any more. I was often perceived as flaky, and friends were awfully judgmental about the fact that I left my husband alone for three whole weeks. In Singapore, however, where expat culture is the very artery of life, my entries and exits were simply legitimized excuses to throw even more dinners in the name of “welcome” and “bye-bye” at the black-and-whites they lived in, and have more intense one-on-ones over brunches at Marmalade Pantry. The sorrow, by the way, would be really, really sweet, given we all knew I’d be right back.

Eventually, my sandals developed wings, and lost the capacity to find ground or form roots. The only constant ground I knew was in the air. Every time I returned, it would take my husband and me about a week to reconnect, and just when we were warming up, I would leave again. (I daresay it kept our relationship sharpened.)

So I had to redefine my space once more and learn to stay put.

About a year later, we moved to New York, a city where space is constantly redefining itself. Perhaps it has also taught me to redefine my space to be where I want to be.

When I crave Asia, I close my eyes and travel to Bali through my Squeezebox. Gamelan fills my ears as I sleep peacefully, deeply.