I sort of don’t want a house at all. I want this beautiful open space where I can look in all directions at my surroundings. Like Hitomi and I did yesterday when we laid down in the future bedroom. I am glad Kengo snapped that photo of us.
When the house goes up, I lose the delight of looking at the wide sky. Of taking it all in at once. Of being surrounded by trees. I would like to have my house made entirely of glass so that I can keep the beautiful views in all directions.
The house will not be glass. It is written in stone. Well, it’s written in concrete and lumber and tiles and lighting fixtures, but you get my meaning. Once it’s there, it’s a permanent part of the landscape, an immovable and opaque object.
The last time I felt this way was before I married Tod. As though a permanent commitment to another person would cause me to lose my freedom. And it did in some ways but it also opened up myriad possibilities and new choices.
I am sure the house will open possibilities to me. The landscaping parts certainly have. In a month or so, there will be a wooden frame. Seven months after that, a fully realised building. I wonder if these feelings of fear and loss will fade away as the house rises?