My space
It was actually during a trip to Cambodia that I realized the importance of the word “space.” Space to me means my realm, my territory, a place where I can be myself, keep my belongings neatly assembled or not, share them or keep them for myself.
My space is my wooden table, which now displays precious pieces, like a statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe; lovely blue sapphires that I am just recently learning to appreciate for their many shades; a stunning heart-shaped, blue glass paperweight, which reminds me to be patient and calm; a green frog paperweight from China for good luck, which reminds me that I bet in the just-concluded lotto. Like one of the two winners, I based my choice of numbers on car plates, jumbled all of them, but I didn’t win.
If anyone misplaced those items, I’d blow a fuse. They have to be precisely in the spots where I put them, and they will stay there as I write sitting on a bench at dawn. That’s my place, and I stare at them daily.
On the other hand, if anyone moved my bed in my study room, I wouldn’t mind. It would surprise me, but I like those around me to dare venture out of the box and fulfill their imagination to find different spaces for furnishings.
So, I guard my space, yet I also welcome change. Perhaps this inconsistency has made me take notice of what I should appreciate, more so in Cambodia five hours away from home, that even the smallest items purchased in past Asian trips are remembered. Like the Malayan antique turtles that bring luck and an excavated ring similar to the one Atty. Louie Baltazar gave me from Indonesia.
Reading of the country one intends to go to is essential. You’ll find out the spaces conquerors stole and spaces the vanquished died for. Asian histories and cultures and artifacts tie up to what was once a huge Southeast Asia centuries back. I practice the ultimate “cut off” when the need arises. Meaning if I can’t buy a desired antiquity I have to forget that material baggage that could drag down my bright space into an abyss which, if I had only saved, I could be buying more. I signal my brain to stop all regrets and decide I should read to feel better and kill some time.
I search my luggage for the most practical of all items, a yellow Stabilo and a Mongol No. 2 that I thought I had uprooted from their Manila dwelling. They’re not these. How can I now underline the facts in the book that I can relate to? I kept the marker and pencil in a basket right next to a tiny golden fish from Kenway Tan and forgot to put them in my bag.
And when did I realize the importance of my space? In Siem Reap, Cambodia this week as I put down my suitcase in a corner, which would do just fine.
All too soon, my friends have adjusted to their own niches. Me, I lay down my shoes in a row. I stacked up my plastic bags in a row too, inside my luggage. I put my makeup — you guessed it — in a row on the left side of the dressing table. This will be my territory for two days. As I do that, I think in bigger and ancient terms. We all need our space. Why, Marco Polo followed the bull promulgated by Pope Alexander VI, and divided the world between Spain and Portugal. Spain took the Americas, and Portugal and the lands beyond Africa. It became their realm.
The Portuguese policy took strong points for trade with Macao and Goa as centers for China and India. In Southeast Asia, the Portuguese chose Melaka by forcibly seizing her while the Sultan of Melaka was then a vassal to the king of Siam. Overtaken? I wouldn’t do that even to the tiniest of dressing tables. I don’t possess the arms or plans to subdue dominions, like the French who occupied the area of Truong Son, Vietnam, in the 19th century, and added Cambodia, Laos and Cochin China. My quasi Spanish, Chinese, Malay heritage respects others and wouldn’t allow me to pick on Wilma of Macao-Malay parentage or Mina’s being Filipino. We’re a trio in search of the monastic past life together, now visiting our Asian neighbors, in a place where Angkor Wat stands unconquered by age, while a dresser stands in a room with a half meter of unoccupied space ready for Mina or Wilma.
Mina’s space is by the television and beside the platter of fruits she munches on. Those midget pineapples are the tiniest yet the sweetest. Wilma’s favorite corner is by the lamp, which gives her the needed brightness for a myopic, well-organized secretary who packs her clothes nightly in a hand-carry. Even clothes have their own niches.
Even in the car I stay put in my own space just at the right side behind the guide, like I usually do in Manila whether the sun is shining on the left or right. It’s a habit. It’s my secure area. We all have our favorite spots and biases, right? Years ago Lito Juliano — friend, inaanak, bodyguard — cautioned me not to sit behind the driver. That supposedly hot seat is bad in a vehicular accident. Well, any place can be the seat of disaster, so God help everyone. Accidents are never a choice.
The three of us decide to visit the Catholic church. We are surprised that Jesus Christ has his place in a humble wooden edifice in Slorkman Village. It’s more of a house. Two stairs on both sides in a typical Cambodian entry lead to a balcony and living room like every other home. Catholics have been worshipping in this Siem Reap living room since 2004 with a fair-skinned Jesuit priest who found his calling in Asia. Below is an open basement to cool off and work in.
Isn’t it a blessing that we can search for our spaces in our own time and place, like what we’re doing in Siem Reap? We’re on our way to see the Angkor Wat, that monument with five towers built from the 9th to the 13th century. On our way, we see Europeans and Americans breathing in the dry, hot air of Cambodia and taking photographs or riding the tuk-tuk. Some tourists rent bikes to take them around the city; others just walk around in crowded or sparsely populated areas, and Cambodians pay no heed to them.
Call it a spot, a niche, a place in the world. We live on this earth and try to discover where we fit in, in the hierarchy of events and people. In time, we may change our niches according to the heavens and our choices, but all the while pursuing a dream that points to different roads, leading us to life’s lessons, to our own respective territories.
