I want a house. Not a crooked house. Not a house on Mango Street. I want a house that I can call my own with jasmine flowers flowing in the front, fruit trees in the back and love all in it and around it.
Ever since I was a kid I wanted a house. I drew a house with many different rooms, probably different levels. Nothing that resembled my two bedroom apt at the time. Mami knew then I would be something if I wanted a house like that. So, I wanted a house and I wanted a house. I wanted a house when I would go to my friends’ houses. I wanted a house when they would come in my home and always note that I lived in an apt. I wanted a house when I couldn’t play in the concrete backyard that was shared by all but used by none. I wanted a house when I would spend time with my aunts in Florida and their houses had marble and tile that you can slide on. With big fridges and lots of food. In the back there was a pool. And I knew somehow I would have to get a house.
But then I stopped wanting a house when I went to college and I got into credit card debt. Smart credit card companies giving credit cards to poor 18 years olds that don’t know how to handle money. Oh, it’s not like food stamps? And I knew I couldn’t get a house with my lousy non profit salary. I no longer wanted to be an international corporate lawyer. No, I came to my senses but not having any money wasn’t part of the plan. I lived that already. Things were suppose to change as an adult.
But I wasn’t an adult then. Not at 22 not at 23 not at 24. It was the morning of my 27th birthday when I realized that i was an adult and I had to make some changes. Saturn return will do that.
When I sat in the chair at la espiritista’s house and cried because everything was all so familiar, she told me that in two years I should be living in a house. That was Nov 26, 2006. She said, you don’t have to own it. Rent it but have a house. I don’t think that will happen this November but anything is possible.
I am staying in Marin for a few days. I am here at a house that I can pretend is mine. I can open the gate and walk to the house and as I walk I can look at the beauty of the trees. I can smell the flowers. I can be happy to call this home for a bit. I can sit on the deck and eat my dinner and write my blog and drink my water and listen to the birds chirp and hope that the bee won’t sting me and lean back and know that someday this could be mine. No, not this house, not a crooked house, not a house on Mango Street but a house of my own.
I talked to God and told Him what I wanted. I actually cried about it. Not that I’m gonna cry so i can get my way cry but more like wow, i realized i really do want this type of cry. That I am going to tell you all my desires type of cry. That I will let go and dare type of cry. I know He listens and gives me what I want. Of course a house is not gonna walk over to me. I have to work it. Like my brother says, we were given gifts but we got to work them.
Maybe it won’t be this November because this November I plan to be in Morocco, Inshallah. Pero maybe before I am 40 or before I am 50 or before I die. I just know I can’t let this dream go.