Ruling the Roost

I felt like I signed away my life -- again -- last night. Two years of it, at least. I have entered into the umpteenth flat lease in my life, thereby digging my soles deeper into the ground and giving it instructions to stay put for another couple of years. The erratic property market here in Singapore has finally caught up to me and threatened to render me homeless by the start of the new year. My landlord hopped on the selling spree bandwagon and decided to rake in at least a hundred percent profit by putting my current flat in the market. Like honey is to bees, my little Chinatown abode within arm's length of Singapore's celebrated business district was clinched just like that. Doesn't money matter to people anymore these days?

Getting the call from my landlord was like receiving a sentence of death. His usually side-splitting funny jokes sounded like metal on asphalt as he attempted to keep the conversation light. Serves me right for entering a non-binding agreement with him in the first place. Two years ago, my gentleman's arrangement with him was the dog's bollocks -- no deposit, no contract, and dirt cheap rent considering the location with all utilities thrown in. Now, the tables have turned and I'm the one with the tail in between my legs. And legitimately homeless at that.

Though I had a quarter to get my act together, I knew that with every single day that passes, rental rates go up a few hundred dollars. What I would have paid for a good two-bedroom apartment in a decent location a couple of years ago would get me a bathroom in the border of Malaysia. So either I suck it up or buy a lottery ticket and pray hard that I hit all the right numbers. The likelihood of the latter depresses me so I opted for the former. Over the weekend, I drowned myself in phone calls to various property agents and sheepishly informed them of my budget and my choice of area. If it weren't for the phone lines between us, I would have gotten spit on vehemently a hundred times. Thank goodness I couldn't see the sneers. The funny part is, the amount I'm willing to shell out for a new place is actually double the amount of money I'm paying right now. I'll clue you in -- it's not small. It's enough live on for a month sans all unnecessary luxuries. And I've allowed myself to veer more than five train stops away from the city proper in terms of location.

It was a surprisingly short process though, me snagging a new place. The end came unexpectedly after a long tiring work day followed by back to back viewings of what seemed like dirty giant boxes dubbed as apartments. It was the last one on my schedule and it was pushing nine o'clock at night. I was cranky, extremely hungry and running out of patience -- the agent was late! I walked towards the apartment complex with a heavy heart as I was sure the place looked crappy inside (despite the grand exterior) or that they made a mistake on the pricing as it looked suspiciously "cheap" (at this point, the word has become entirely relative). I'm not sure what kind of fortune surrounded me last night but everything just fell into place. It was an affordable rate (no need to sell my left kidney), located in my preferred area, and the flat didn't look like a war broke out inside it. I must've made the quickest decision in my life as I found myself saying "I'll take it" before I could even blink. In this market, people looked for flats and houses with checkbooks in tow. I didn't think I would find something so quickly that I didn't dare to bring mine -- but I do know how to beg profusely. I managed to convince the agent and the owner to settle the paperwork with me today instead. So as I write this, I am now a few thousand dollars poorer, bound in this country for at least another two years, a certified suburban (in my books, at least) and a future commuter fighting her way through the rush hour throng. Despite all of the above, I at least know that I will have a roof over my head.

So, yes, the next two weeks will be filled by the familiar glow of the moonlight as I pack up boxes once again and ready myself to shift. I've had more than enough practice stuffing in the devil. Though I will only move some fifteen minutes away, it seems to be a whole new world to me. No more skyscrapers, no more brightly lit fireworks during Chinese holidays, no more noisy cars and buses all throughout the night, and no more going home for a kip during lunch time. And the next two years will be filled with new experiences that will surely be missed when it's time for me to move again.

I once told a friend that even though two years sounds like infinitude sometimes, we don't realize just how short it really is. I cannot fathom that I've been living here for three years already (I only counted the months recently and cannot get over the shock) as it only feels like it was yesterday when I dragged my luggage out of the famous Singapore international airport for the first time. In two years' time, I will be slightly younger than twenty eight years old and the number just fries my brain. Two years ago, I was barely twenty four and still trying not to get lost. Somewhere in the middle I apparently grew up and hopefully matured, and adopted this city which I call my own for as long as it's willing to have me. I have nothing to my name but a clumsy collection of experiences -- and perhaps a few dollars just enough to buy noodles for supper. That should be enough for now, no?