zeekie: take two.

Usually returning to the United States is a matter of lugging luggage. Every summer before I leave I stash my luggage with someone; and every fall when I return I move the luggage to the (new?) dorm. But this fall was different: I no longer had a dorm. I did not have an apartment; I did not have a room. For the first time returning to the United States I had no place - no space, even - that I could call my own.

The plan had been very simple. I was going to move out of campus, and set up an apartment with a friend. He was staying in Manhattan, and he would bear the brunt of the search. I had to return home to work, but I would help as much as I could from Singapore. Before I boarded the plane that was the understanding that we shared.

But weeks dragged on and the rejected pile grew ever and ever larger. If it was not rent it was the location, or it was the broker's fee. I have heard it said that singles are difficult, but whole apartments are really not much easier. Finally after June had passed there were a few weeks of mysterious silence. Some terse messages had preceded them, so I thought it best not to nag.

But when the end of July loomed near, I started to panic. I shot off a tentative email, hoping things were looking up. Instead I got an apologetic reply: he had already found a place.

For himself, of course.

A month later I returned to New York City, and made a temporary home on my brother's living room couch. I sleep there still, although I am glad to say that I have secured a place. And it is a fantastic place, and I will be beyond happy to call it my home.

But in the week before I found the place, I learned a lot of things about myself. Most of them were not that great. It turns out that therapy isn't really necessary; apartment-hunting is more than enough to reveal the horrors of your psyche.

I realized that I could not make do with a small living space; and materialism is only a smaller of the prejudices I have been nurturing. I also realized that I did not want to live with Asians, regardless of how Americanized they are, and that desire for Americana in itself is probably also a fault. A third realization was that I still hoped to find a boyfriend through my rooming situation, that I was still unwilling to venture further afield in that. A fourth was that I still need to fight to look under skin color, whether for roommates or for more significant relationships.

I could go on and list the continuing disheartening realizations, but I suppose there would be little point. I don't quite understand people who list their faults publicly as if that alone is a step towards correcting them, so I'll stop at those four.

I really do hope that by the end of the year, I can look on this post and say honestly to myself that I have at least made some improvement.