Broken House Blues

If I remember correctly, I believe I squealed when I read about the possibility of owning a casa before officially moving here. Of course I'd never done so before (squealed without warning nor been a homeowner) and the idea of having something of my own made me ecstatic. Like most women, I was fully prepared to bring forth my best decorating skills and put them to good use (call it the "domesticating" gene programmed within us I suppose). I was not however, prepared for the mountain of responsibility that comes with a house. Sure, I was aware that any home (no matter the size) needs upkeep and a few repairs every now and then, but in another country (specifically an economically challenged one) it's just different. Resources and building materials are limited, and as a result houses are constructed with either too much or too little ventilation/insulation, faulty electricity, and mediocre plumbing. Now don't get me wrong, this is what I signed up for after all. I want to be clear that I'm very grateful for my house flaws and all, because at the end of the day I'm one of the lucky ones. I've never had to stitch or pin fabric together for climate protection and privacy nor drawn water from a well or river to bathe in, so the concept of things like indoor plumbing and 4 walls is only for the privileged. Simply put, I definitely count my blessings more times that not. However, there are often times I fantasize about throwing my hands up, dragging my belongings back downhill, and pleading with my host family to take the “helpless Americana” in once more. Of course I’d have to explain myself, and the best answer I’d give would probably be something along the lines of “I just miss my worry-free days of residing in your household.” (Or “Es que extraño mucho viviendo aquí sin problemas” is how they’d hear it.) When I come back to reality, I am comforted by the fact that being such kind people, the Diazs’ would surely take me in again, but I have to quickly remind myself that I wanted this. While living amongst them, I felt there was this itch for my own space and true privacy that I couldn’t quite scratch. The decision to give complete independence a shot was solely my own. Maybe the stubbornness in me sees returning there again as the easy way out, the obvious result of my failed attempt at adult responsibility. Maybe this is a far too Americanized mindset to have in the first place. I mean in order to start over you have to revert to the beginning, don’t you? And I’ve found in the Latin American culture this is understood. Only Americans take failure to heart and consider going back home to be a disappointment to everyone (oneself included). Here, however, children of all ages are welcomed again and again with open arms and contagious grins. I could be one of them, but the thought of deserting what I put my hard-earned money into and created for myself just doesn’t make sense (considering the factors that would be driving me away). True, technically I'm just a tenant, but my dueños (landlords) were kind enough to allow me to paint and nail a few things to the walls so it feels like a home away from home. If a problem comes up, I attempt (and usually succeed) to fix it myself. If a bigger problem comes up, I call on my dueños for help. And if there is a problem that neither of us can solve, I adjust as needed. Honestly, it can be very frustrating at times but I'm learning from the experience, and by living alone I'm learning even more. I've become more resourceful and appreciate what little I have. It may not be much or the most beautiful residence to ever exist, but its mine for now and the struggles I've encountered (and listed below) only make me stronger, right?

-No water all summer (3 months); The theory goes it's because my house is located uphill so water is sort of at a standstill but runs freely downhill. I personally think it's because my pipes are old and need to be replaced, otherwise what explains the rusty looking and smelling water? Also I might add that I could not boil anything, water my garden nor clean dishes, and had to shower at my host family's home (they live about 3 blocks away). Even now I keep a lot of bottled water around and fill up the empty ones to be boiled later if ever necessary.

-No electricity; When it's a scorching hot day or down-pouring the electricity goes without fail. I've learned to always have something on hand that doesn't require cooking (i.e. sandwich stuff) or if it looks cloudy to opt for an early lunch or dinner. Asi es (that's just the way it is).

-No air; Having a/c is a luxury that I cannot afford, so all I have to survive the highs of 105 degree weather during the summertime here are ceiling fans and an abundant stock of ice in the freezer. It’s not so bad. The real problem however, is the humidity of which I cannot escape even in my own home. (Paraguay is a tropical climate so it comes with the territory, literally) As a result of this, the plaster/paint from the ceilings in every room started to crumble about two months ago, and now leaves dusty clusters wherever it lands (on my and the guest beds, in the shower, on the kitchen table, etc.). My friends and I jokingly call it “snow” because it falls leisurely and also happens to be white. There isn’t much to be done about this except to leave the windows open when I’m present, and dust off my bed before I climb into it at night. The more permanent solution would be to have all of the ceilings scraped clean which is both not a quick-fix and also time-consuming so therefore probably not going to happen. (Shrugs).

Now on the days I have to face all of these misfortunes at the same time, I’m a wreck and don’t find being a homeowner to be worth it (lol). Yet, on the days I’m prepared and calm, I sometimes surprise myself with my patient responsiveness.  I’ll always have the old “Americanized” part of myself that’s got the “never give up” mantra deeply engrained within me. However, the newly enlightened side of me (since living in the “other” America) knows even when I make a mistake or a rash decision that I have to live with (literally), there will always be someone not too far away willing to take me in or help if I’m not too proud to ask. For the moment though I plan to tough out my blues, that way if a "blizzard" hits at least my neighbors will say I died trying, ha.