Saturday, March 20, 2010

Home is Where the Toilet Is

I was sitting on the toilet bowl for almost thirty minutes. Had it been a weekday, in the same span of time, I wouldn’t have only emptied my tummy from last night's full meal, but have also taken a shower, dressed up and gelled my hair. But since it's a weekend, I was spared of that obligation to enslave myself to another day of never ending early morning wake up calls and pressuring office works. So for thirty minutes, I have afforded myself to sit on the toilet bowl, releasing my thoughts of boredom and homesickness yet again. Been here in Dubai for more almost 2 years now, it's kind of odd that after many battles and consecration to fulfilling my dreams in this land of sands and the guinesses, I was actually feeling sad and missing home.

The toilet was as bare as me. Aside from the bowl, the water hose and the tissue holder, there was nothing else to see inside. The walls and floor was made of white shiny marble tiles whimsically resembling a huge folded unpainted canvass whose master's artistry has lost ever since he left his silent sanctuary back home. The toilet and the bowl was nothing similar to the one we had back home. This one was so closed out and unforgiving, while ours in the province was meters away from our house, a walled cubicle without roof and where the sky and heaven freely falls and where the birds and the tress fly and sway abandonly from above without even care at what you are doing.

Such a great pleasure from simple things. I missed that and I missed home. Sometimes I wish if only toilet bowls could be like time machine that could transport someone back to the past or bring someone closer to the future, then I'd probably spend frequent times to happily do both. I wanted to go back to the days when our toilet bowl was still that ground level type, much like me, so young, so trivial, so jologs, funny and innocent. Yet all the more that I wanted to go forward to the future. I missed home, family and friends. If I could travel to skip many pages in the calendar and many months of sacrifices alone here outside of my own familiar confinement, my thoughts of home and all the feelings of boredom would be flushed away with all my hesitations and unsaid feelings for my loved ones.

There was peace and solace in the toilet room, the deafening silence is a treat away from the seemingly inescapable lack of privacy that is Dubai. Yet the noiselessness was just suffocating in a sense that when you have nothing else to see, what you saw was a picture of yourself back in time in the same moments and mersmerized how things have changed since the time that you'd enjoyed some private yet public moments in that roofless toilet nestled below the leafy towering calumpit trees. There were no flush, tissue paper or exhaust whatsoever, but there was joy in seeing the birds and airplanes flew from above, there was pleasure hearing the birds' noises from the trees, there was sweetness in the scent of the fields and farms. There was hapiness, simply in being at home.


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