Thirty Two
Hoi Hoi, I turned thirty two.
I picked up the keys for my new place in west Amsterdam last week. A canal runs through my area, De Baarsjes.
Along the banks are residential buildings covered with darker bricks. Every ground floor window seems to have a cat peeking outside, but the cats only reveal themselves if you linger for a second or two. There is a particularly grumpy black cat taking angry naps every day.
One of the buildings had a diamond-shaped patch next to the entrance looking like a piece of tech from the future. I imagined that, as urban space grew even more scarce, it would function as an interface to teleport you to visit the graves of loved ones, or maybe it would itself be a digital tombstone.
Yesterday, across the bridge I saw a mom riding a bike with two kids in the front, one in the back and another seat empty reserved for a fourth. She was determined to cross the slightly upward part of the bridge. It didn’t feel easy.
Behind her was the Albert Heijn, a popular supermarket chain, in my neighbourhood. David and I started calling it Alby after finishing the abrupt ending of Half Man on HBO and agreed it was a pity that the show didn’t give Alby the character a proper arc. He was a plot device.
If the supermarket had a branch in Melbourne, it would be called Albo, I am sure.
I walk my new neighbourhood as I peek into each household to study how they decorate their space, where they place their pendant light and where in the ceiling it starts falling down; what is the orientation of the sofa and TV; is it a big plant or a line of pots with different green leaves?
Living on the ground floor was entirely ruled out when I started my search for a rental in Amsterdam. After seeing how common or maybe even hip these apartments are, with the easy access to the canal, stylish doors and less hassle for furniture deliveries, I am starting to understand why they might be quite desirable. But I still don’t think they are for me.
Steven brought up “Calvinist” when quizzing me about the window size in Amsterdam. It’s the Dutch value of being transparent and having nothing to hide.
I told them about how I was reminded of New York when walking in the west. Being in front of a New Yorker, I immediately felt stupid for not knowing the Big Apple was once called New Amsterdam. It’s a no-brainer that the Dutch people brought their architectural style upon arrival.
The real implication of Calvinism for me personally was a lot of house watching through the window and not having curtains at my new place yet. The closest appointment I scored for a proper measurement and installation is not till July. Before then, I worked out I could sleep with an eye mask I took from the plane.
Suddenly I was hoping the sunlight wouldn’t be that strong until I had the curtains and privacy.
Clear windows represent transparency but don’t mean an invitation to stare. I have always loved watching people’s homes, whether it was the Friday after-school walk to the metro station in Shanghai or the fancy residences next to Anderson Park in Melbourne.
Most of the ground floor flats would have nice outdoor tables and seats, and they are usually locked up and strung along by heavy chains and locks. It sums up this interesting tension of the Dutch priding themselves on freedom and transparency, while always being pragmatic and cautious.
It’s a similar feeling to how strangers greet you with Hoi and Doei, hello and bye. But everyone seems to stay removed and isolated in their own bubble.
Many paradoxes coexist inside this city.
When the sun is out, the cafe next door is often packed with people sitting on two sides of small round tables, facing the water and sipping drinks regardless of the day or time. There are always stacks of chairs near the entrance at the corner.
I want to secretly take two chairs from the cafe home because they happen to be in the new colour scheme I decided on for my place a couple weeks ago.
It’s made up of slightly dark red, light blue and cream colour.
Through my first apartment in Melbourne I learned that having a colour scheme makes finding furniture and things much easier. It was green and orange back then, so I rebelled against it by picking two different primary colours, blue and red this time.
I have always wanted it in the first place; a reference image I pulled out from my Figma is the physical proof of it.
One thing that didn’t change was that I started seeing the colour palette everywhere, like the stacked chair at the cafe downstairs. But also doors and fences facing the streets in Buitenveldert; plates, tea towels and lamps in the latest IKEA release; carpets and bath mats through the targeted ads on Instagram.
It feels like I only had the illusion of choosing the colour scheme whereas in reality maybe it was just the end product of the subconscious being bombarded by everything from posters on the streets to promotional emails. Like the cerulean sweater Andy wore that prompted Miranda’s monologue.
But I was very happy about a table I found matching my exact colour scheme, and then a standing mirror on the same site.
A frequent conversation I have been having with myself for the past few weeks is an interrogation of whether I moved continents just to decorate a new place from scratch.
There is a lot of truth to it, which makes me feel quite shallow and ridiculous.
Could I not have done it in Melbourne, in more familiar settings, with a cheaper price, faster shipping dates and bigger elevators built into each building?
I could, but also I felt like I couldn’t. It like a permission thing I had to unlock.
At my last job, we often talked about the problem of users facing a giant blank canvas and not knowing where to start regardless of whether they wanted a poster or a birthday card.
But I feel like maybe my canvas in Melbourne had turned into an overly used whiteboard that had many rounds of writing on it. It’s technically a blank canvas after rigorous wiping, but you can clearly see the shadow and traces of the things before.
You almost want to repeat where the marks are, so the part that had a hint of old marks is covered. White remains white.
So I granted myself a brand new canvas by hopping on a 22-hour flight after almost a year of planning and shedding. It was not pretty or smooth at all.
Of course, a new city didn’t miraculously change who I am.
I remain hesitant to explore different corners of it when I am alone. I still feel like hiding in the only properly set up corner inside my apartment. I open the same YouTube channel. I can feel how the established part of me is not giving way. It’s seeking the security and comfort of the sameness.
A place is just a place. I have arrived at the same conclusion many times, through travel, through putting photos I took of Tokyo and Melbourne side by side on the wall. With different colours of skin, architectural styles and harshness of the sunlight, people seem to be facing the same choices and dilemmas, just with different packaging.
But I felt a weird relief.
“Okay, if this is the reality, what do I do now?”
I want to put in a bit more effort, like looking up the history of a building that has a facade that caught my eyes on the street; reading up on the timeline of when the Dutch had claim to New York and realising why there’s also a Harlem there; properly reading the manual of an unfamiliar dishwasher and loading in dishwashing salt and liquid; studying the temperature guide on a piece of fabric.
Or as I call it, stop half-assing it.
I want to dwell less. I am simply following an inertia of writing things down and capturing the surroundings in frames. They felt pointless a lot of the time, but they are also nice to browse and remember. They make going through the days a collecting exercise.
They bring me the feeling of being alive, occasionally, in short bursts.
My period of floating around has come to an end.
Part of me finds it hard to believe that I have not been working a full-time job, or letting go of a central thread, for over 6 months now. I didn’t have any profound realisations over the so-called career break, but I was really glad to see I was able to detach myself from an identity I started to latch onto.
I can see more clearly the part of me that’s not changing because of new circumstances. It’s stubborn, it’s a repeatable pattern.
And so, I am not ashamed of romanticising the idea of Europe or a clean slate. I simply like the fact that I gave myself a chance.
Though I have just been waiting. Waiting to get there.
Waiting for my job to wrap up, a house to be sold, a closure to be made, a flight to catch, a rental to secure, a nice table to be shipped, a residence card to be collected.
It never ends.
Hoi Hoi, I just turned thirty two.
But I think I am already there.
New palette is 👌 excited to see what you do with the fresh canvas!