It’s time to move out and move on…


Have you ever been living in a place where more bad experiences happen than good? I am not superstitious, but I do believe that some places harbor more bad people than others, and therefore, more bad incidents and unpleasant experiences. I also believe that if the intentions for every action are not pure, then bad things can only follow them.

I just came from walking our two well-behaved dogs, as I do every morning. This particular time was the worst yet. I make sure they do their “business” in areas that are relatively accepted as “business areas”, and not on people’s front yards. If the dogs do have their occasional “accidents”, I do pick up the mess. Without elaborating on it, I had a confrontation with a selfish and boorish man who didn’t even have the right to claim a space that belonged to a school. It was a very unpleasant, to say the least, experience. I can hardly wait to move out! Thankfully, it is just a matter of weeks. This is not a good place for pets.

And this is not the first time. The people in this neighborhood are mostly selfish, boorish and uncouth. Stray dogs abound because the owners just let them be. These dogs chase people and other dogs, bark incessantly, especially at night, and harass our dogs. If not for the many lessons I learned from Cesar Milan, I would have had several anxiety attacks.

This is the place where we experienced the most stress. The noise level is unacceptable. All types of vehicles pass in front of the place (the road has become a bypass road for buses, trucks, loud tricycles and motorcycles, and even heavy equipment!). Smog levels are high.

People still burn their trash regularly here which means our clothes and just about everything else smell like smoke. Our lungs don’t fare well either. People blatantly throw trash on the streets and even right on the driveway. The whole place smells of putrid trash most days of the week, especially before trash pick-up. I literally wake up from the stench in the middle of the night.

Neighbors on the left, right, front and back of this place blare out their bad singing with their videoke machines quite frequently in a month. They don’t care that they keep us awake ‘til the wee hours of the night, as long as they are entertained. There is no care or regard for others anymore.

The neighbors behind us have about six children who scream and play at around 6-7 am – while we are still asleep. We stay up pretty late because it is simply difficult to fall asleep in this place. You can imagine what I’ll say next.

There have been robberies here as well – in this apartment and the next. We have never felt safe here.

And then there are the many unpleasant personal experiences related to this place – the pain, death, loss, betrayal, abuse. Again, if the intentions are not pure, bad things will surely follow. We moved here not of our own volition. And now we are being driven away with very little time to prepare for another move.

Yes, it’s time to go. It was time to go the day we moved here, because we moved very reluctantly from a place we were happy living in for eight years. I always knew this was very temporary, and I’m grateful it is. In fact, I never fully unpacked. This is the first time. I did not place all my magnets on the fridge because I did not want to stay long. The term “I never felt at home here” certainly applies. There are no good associations or memories here – quite the opposite, in fact. I pray this nightmare of a place will end soon. I have been praying this the past two years we stayed here. It is finally answered.


Struggling with grief…

After what seems to be forever, I finally picked up a sharp HB pencil, dusted it off, and with trembling fingers, placed lead on paper. I managed to draw a few curves and lines but couldn’t see what it was I was drawing. It didn’t take the shape I wanted it to and no amount of erasures and retouches could capture the spirit or form of my subject. My vision began to blur as tears gathered in my eyes. I was trying to draw Beans, our beloved six-year old Labrador Retriever who passed away a little over six months ago.

Our sweet, funny and loyal boy passed on after almost a month of suffering from kidney infection. My husband and I panicked and worried about him endlessly and lived several miles from our trusted vet. We had relocated over a year ago and had difficulty finding pet clinics and vets that were up to par. When Beans’ kidneys failed, we took him to a recommended vet who did a very bad job with his surgery and post-surgery care. We will always regret that decision made in a panic. We didn’t know where else to go.

After much prayer and tears, we put our baby Beans to sleep and buried him in a compassionate friend’s backyard. We do not have soil or a garden where we reside in now. My husband stayed up with Beans the whole night and just soothed and comforted him while I fell asleep crying.

It has been years since I last sketched or drew anything. It’s what I had done and known all my life and the inability to get back to it due to depression has ridden me with guilt and anger for many years. I thought that starting over with a picture of Beans would help me and be therapeutic, in a way. It wasn’t. Or maybe it was.

I still couldn’t draw, but crying my heart out again helped. I miss our baby Beans. Hubby and I find it difficult to talk about him without breaking down. But we need to talk about him. We need to look at his pictures – and are we thankful that we took a lot of them! He was a very willing subject. He was willing to do anything to please us.

A good friend gave us our new pup Eloise, a Jack Russell Terrier, two months later. While she brings us much joy and is possibly the most affectionate kisser, the void Beans has left in our hearts refuses to be filled. Our little Peanut (a feisty min pin we’ve had for more than four years now) also continues to be my” little one”, but I will always miss our big boy.

The dark marks on our wall will remain untouched for a while because they were left behind by Beans. Perhaps my sketchbook will remain untouched as well for a few more months. I haven’t recovered. I don’t know when I will, but I’ll give myself permission to grieve some more, and I won’t set any deadlines.