Guys Go Into Caves, Pam Song Builds Walls

I used to live this house that came with a garden. And since the garden had such pretty flowers, I thought, "Hey, maybe I should have some pretty, ankle-high picket fences to go with it. The kind that adds to the aesthetics but pretty much does nothing else." So I did it. I set up those fences. Just to be safe. You know? To keep people off the grass because, hey, it's impolite to step beyond other people's fences, right?

Wrong.

My flowers still got trampled over. Time after time after time. And then there was this one time when it got so bad that I decided, "To hell with the pretty fences. I need hardcore fences that go up to the armpits." So I got 'em built. Hmmm. Not too bad, I guess. It still looked okay from the inside. From the outside... well, not so cool. But what the heck. I needed to learn to be selfish with my garden of pretty flowers. So what if other people can't really see what's inside unless they peek over the fence? It's no loss to me, right?

Wrong.

After happily living in that fenced up house for over a quarter of a decade, my house got broken into. It got broken into really badly. I lost everything. My TV set, my couches, my even my favourite table lamp from IKEA that cost pennies but meant the world to me – I lost them all. Overnight, I suddenly found that I had nothing. Nothing to show for my time in the house. Nothing to show for the energy I invested into making the house the house it was. Instead, it was a mess. An almost-empty house with nothing but mess and more mess.

But there was nothing to do but
pick up the pieces and move on with life.

So I cleaned it up. I cleaned it all up and swore that I'd never put my house in a position to need that kind of massive cleaning up again. I needed to get new fencing. But hey, no more picket fences for me, no siree. I'm taking no more risks. NO. MORE. RISKS.

I needed a wall.

So I got down to business with that wall. I placed an order for brick walls that reached waaay over my head. I felt safer once they were up. But still not safe enough. Paranoia stayed (and grew) and over time, I found myself adding shards of broken glass in rows atop the walls that surrounded my house. I had them molded into a layer of wet cement and left it all to dry. Did that all round the house and even on the lower window seals. Just to be really safe. No more risks, remember?

But I wasn't happy. I felt caged in.

Like I somehow lost a part of myself when I decided to lock myself in in an effort to keep the bad guys out. So I thought, "Maybe I should just check out a new neighbourhood and move into a new place. Maybe it'll be easier starting anew. Maybe."

So I decided to give it a try.

Things went pretty smoothly, if you ask me. I saw and even seriously considered a couple of nice houses in some nice neighbourhoods about town. Even went out, narrowed my choices down and inquired about prices with the realtor. But then, something happened with my plan and things didn't quite fall through like I hoped it would. So, I ended up finding myself staring back at my old house again. The one with the brick walls.

Sigh. What now?

Ditch the house, or give it another shot? I mean, I was pretty okay-happy with it till the break-in, right? So, perhaps it deserves another shot. Perhaps. There's no guarantee when it comes to these things. But thinking about it, it would save me a lot on lawyer fees and all. Plus, I'm so used to the way the house is. I know every nook and cranny. I know the sounds it makes at night. I know the exact angle in which the afternoon sun shines in. I know it because it's familiar. And familiar is good, right? Hmmm. So... second chance?

Fine. We'll go with the second chance.

After making my decision, I tried to be genuinely happy living in my old house again. But the walls that surrounded it just irritated the hell out of me. As much as I tried being happy, the garden just looked terrible with those dammed brick walls. The shards of glass didn't help improve the aesthetics either. So I made a decision to change it all. I was scared, of course. I mean, I got my house broken into and I lost everything overnight, remember. Wouldn't YOU be scared? Be a little more understanding, for crying out loud! It takes a lot of courage to tear down the walls. A LOT of courage.

But I did it anyways. And then
I got the armpit-high picket fences back.

I guess things are relatively okay for me now. I mean, they're still not as perfect as they used to be cos I still find myself looking over my shoulder every once in awhile for fear of being robbed and all but... hey, I'm surviving. And I get to have my pretty garden back. Thing is, I know that if anything rotten were to happen again, the walls would so come back. And this time, they'd be SO high and SO thick that nobody would ever get through them again. I'd sacrifice my pretty garden for my safety any day. No second thoughts. And no third chances.

But let's focus on the now and not on the what-ifs.

Now, I've got my picket fences. They're not the aesthetically pleasing ones I had before all this – the ankle-high ones that did nothing but please the eyes – but they'll do. For now. Perhaps my house looks less appealing with them around. But I can't bring myself to care anymore. At least not right now. Maybe someday when I've got my own family living in that house with me and I'm no longer alone, I'll let those cute, little picket fences make a comeback. Get my pretty garden looking as ideal as I'd want it to. But not as yet.

Now, I'll live with the armpit-high fences.
And I'll try being as happy as I can with them.

If anybody wants a peek, they'll have to tip-toe. Stand on stools and schoolbooks if they must. Maybe even climb ladders. Whatever the case, I'm not bringing those fences down. Not yet. Not unless I've got security. And some sort of a guarantee that I'll be safe and protected no matter what. This is why I'm not ready. And the more people make me do it, the more they push me to doing what I'm not ready to, the more I feel scared and threatened.

And fearful, threatened people build walls.


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Confused? You may have to read a post I published back in October 2006 in order to fully understand this post. That was Part 1 of the Saga: "Decide, Woman, for I'm Afraid of the Ice."