She's bored but she's not yet stiff. Like a serial romancer itching for cheap thrills - "to play the field" if not the fool, this self-confessed bored employee taunts her employers to sack her by admitting that her job is so boring that she had to move house 12 times in 20 years just to keep herself from falling asleep at her job.
Result: my Sunday became a big yawn.
Jul 4, 2010 – The Sunday Times
I must keep moving
I have moved house 12 times in 20 years but I am happy. I know it is an outlet for my abiding restlessness
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By Chua Mui Hoong
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Boxes are strewn all over my flat right now. As I write this, two large boxes nestle in a corner of my study, gaping voids waiting to be filled with my junk.
I am moving – again.
It is the 12th time I am moving house in 20 years. That makes an average sojourn of less than two years in each abode.
My family thinks I’m mad. My mother tells me: ‘Live peacefully in one place, don’t keep moving.’
My sister has lived in the same house for more than 10 years. My brother’s family live in the flat we grew up in 30 years ago.
Me, I’ve moved from Britain where I went to university, to Hougang, River Valley, Ang Mo Kio, Novena, Thomson, Harvard Square, Bukit Timah, and then Bishan.
I used to think I moved because my life circumstances changed. I came back from overseas and needed a place of my own to stay, moving from one rental place to another.
After I bought my own apartment, I continued to move on to other residences. My justification was that a family member fell ill and needed a caregiver, or my niece needed a babysitter, or whatever. There was always a legitimate reason to move.
When I moved into my current flat in 2008, it seemed right for me and the people I was supposed to be sharing it with. But things fell through.
I soon found the space too cavernous. Dust bunnies formed in under-utilised corners. The quiet began to feel oppressive and lonely.
I began to itch for a smaller place. I vocalised my wish to all and sundry. Friends and family members groaned.
‘There you go again. Don’t tell me you’re going to move again? Is it two years since you moved in?’
I started looking, again. And now, a few months later, I am on the verge of moving to new pastures.
I figure I’ve lived here long enough – two years and five months, which is longer than my average in the last 20 years.
Time for a change of scenery, explore a new neighbourhood. Time for, well, a change.
Which is why I am moving from this flat to an apartment – two minutes’ drive away.
Though it’s just a stroll away, the move entails the same amount of tedious grunt work.
I still have to pack my book cases, my three cupboards-full of clothes and linen, my store-room full of kitchen appliances bought in hopes of bringing out the domestic goddess in me (she lies, alas, dormant) which sit pristinely on the shelves, some still in their boxes.
You would think a serial house-mover like me should have packing down to an art. But it’s still a chore.
Never mind, I tell myself. It won’t be for long. I will find my dream home. And then I will stay put. Permanently.
That means five years. Or just three. Maybe aim for two.
I am coming to accept that I suffer from a mild psychological disorder. Some people change boyfriends. Some job-hop. I move house.
I’m a long-term kind of person in my relationships and friendships. I am also very committed to my employer – my first since graduation. I am due to get my 20 years Long Service Award next year.
So maybe my way of injecting novelty into my life is to move house.
Like a serial romancer, I like the thrill when playing the field. I love to scan property classified ads, make appointments to view apartments, talk to agents and dream of how I would do up a place, and what kind of life I would lead, in each.
And when there is a firm prospect, I love the excitement of closing in on the kill – when you negotiate a price, make a bid and a counter-bid, give a little and take a little there, and clinch an agreement.
It’s a pity apartments are so expensive to buy, sell and rent, or I would be trading in them every month. I considered being a property agent, but I’m still an idealist and believe journalism makes a difference to society.
I also like the creativity and activity involved in renovating apartments – planning the size, designing optimal storage solutions and choosing the fixtures – the flooring, wall tiles, faucets, lighting, curtains and even the shape of the toilet bowl.
And I love the feeling of discovery when you first move into a new place, and the sense of comfort as the months go by, and you ease into each other’s company.
The whole cycle takes about 18 months. And then, when I become used to a place, Moverlust strikes and I feel the urge to go on the hunt again.
I console myself that moving house, rather than changing jobs or lovers, is a relatively harmless outlet for that innate restlessness in me.
Psychologist Melvyn Kinder in the book Mastering Your Moods, cites recent brain science to make the case that one’s brain chemicals determine one’s state of mind, and shape one’s moods. He divides people into four categories based, in part, on their thresholds for arousal – which means how excitable they are to stimuli.
There is the introverted, sensitive Sensor who gets anxious easily and is easily startled because a little bit of stimuli shocks her system easily.
Then there is the Focuser who is hyper-aware of what goes on in her interior world of thought and feelings, and lives too much in the mind.
The Discharger is extroverted and emotionally expressive, and requires a lot to feel stimulated, driving him to seek extreme thrills to feel alive.
The Seeker is an introvert who seeks novelty and sensation.
Kinder suggests that people understand their core emotional type and then find ways to deal with them.
Now, I’m the moody, broody sort of woman, with a tendency to live in the mind and dream through life. I plot entire novels in the minutes I lie tossing in bed before sleep comes. Apparently, I’m a Focuser, and prone to become ‘vexed when idle’, needing constant stimulation.
I do tend to find ordinary life boring. I hate mundane tasks – like packing. I generally enjoy new challenges and environments. I crave the settled bliss of domestic happiness – but I also need novelty and excitement within a committed relationship.
Given my need for change, I am beginning to wonder if my constant search for a new home is a way for me to seek diversion and stimulation to stave off boredom.
I have 18 months to figure it all out – before the next bout of Moverlust strikes
Result: my Sunday became a big yawn.
Jul 4, 2010 – The Sunday Times
I must keep moving
I have moved house 12 times in 20 years but I am happy. I know it is an outlet for my abiding restlessness
<!-- by line -->
By Chua Mui Hoong
<!-- end by line -->
<!-- end left side bar -->
<!-- story content : start -->
Boxes are strewn all over my flat right now. As I write this, two large boxes nestle in a corner of my study, gaping voids waiting to be filled with my junk.
I am moving – again.
It is the 12th time I am moving house in 20 years. That makes an average sojourn of less than two years in each abode.
My family thinks I’m mad. My mother tells me: ‘Live peacefully in one place, don’t keep moving.’
My sister has lived in the same house for more than 10 years. My brother’s family live in the flat we grew up in 30 years ago.
Me, I’ve moved from Britain where I went to university, to Hougang, River Valley, Ang Mo Kio, Novena, Thomson, Harvard Square, Bukit Timah, and then Bishan.
I used to think I moved because my life circumstances changed. I came back from overseas and needed a place of my own to stay, moving from one rental place to another.
After I bought my own apartment, I continued to move on to other residences. My justification was that a family member fell ill and needed a caregiver, or my niece needed a babysitter, or whatever. There was always a legitimate reason to move.
When I moved into my current flat in 2008, it seemed right for me and the people I was supposed to be sharing it with. But things fell through.
I soon found the space too cavernous. Dust bunnies formed in under-utilised corners. The quiet began to feel oppressive and lonely.
I began to itch for a smaller place. I vocalised my wish to all and sundry. Friends and family members groaned.
‘There you go again. Don’t tell me you’re going to move again? Is it two years since you moved in?’
I started looking, again. And now, a few months later, I am on the verge of moving to new pastures.
I figure I’ve lived here long enough – two years and five months, which is longer than my average in the last 20 years.
Time for a change of scenery, explore a new neighbourhood. Time for, well, a change.
Which is why I am moving from this flat to an apartment – two minutes’ drive away.
Though it’s just a stroll away, the move entails the same amount of tedious grunt work.
I still have to pack my book cases, my three cupboards-full of clothes and linen, my store-room full of kitchen appliances bought in hopes of bringing out the domestic goddess in me (she lies, alas, dormant) which sit pristinely on the shelves, some still in their boxes.
You would think a serial house-mover like me should have packing down to an art. But it’s still a chore.
Never mind, I tell myself. It won’t be for long. I will find my dream home. And then I will stay put. Permanently.
That means five years. Or just three. Maybe aim for two.
I am coming to accept that I suffer from a mild psychological disorder. Some people change boyfriends. Some job-hop. I move house.
I’m a long-term kind of person in my relationships and friendships. I am also very committed to my employer – my first since graduation. I am due to get my 20 years Long Service Award next year.
So maybe my way of injecting novelty into my life is to move house.
Like a serial romancer, I like the thrill when playing the field. I love to scan property classified ads, make appointments to view apartments, talk to agents and dream of how I would do up a place, and what kind of life I would lead, in each.
And when there is a firm prospect, I love the excitement of closing in on the kill – when you negotiate a price, make a bid and a counter-bid, give a little and take a little there, and clinch an agreement.
It’s a pity apartments are so expensive to buy, sell and rent, or I would be trading in them every month. I considered being a property agent, but I’m still an idealist and believe journalism makes a difference to society.
I also like the creativity and activity involved in renovating apartments – planning the size, designing optimal storage solutions and choosing the fixtures – the flooring, wall tiles, faucets, lighting, curtains and even the shape of the toilet bowl.
And I love the feeling of discovery when you first move into a new place, and the sense of comfort as the months go by, and you ease into each other’s company.
The whole cycle takes about 18 months. And then, when I become used to a place, Moverlust strikes and I feel the urge to go on the hunt again.
I console myself that moving house, rather than changing jobs or lovers, is a relatively harmless outlet for that innate restlessness in me.
Psychologist Melvyn Kinder in the book Mastering Your Moods, cites recent brain science to make the case that one’s brain chemicals determine one’s state of mind, and shape one’s moods. He divides people into four categories based, in part, on their thresholds for arousal – which means how excitable they are to stimuli.
There is the introverted, sensitive Sensor who gets anxious easily and is easily startled because a little bit of stimuli shocks her system easily.
Then there is the Focuser who is hyper-aware of what goes on in her interior world of thought and feelings, and lives too much in the mind.
The Discharger is extroverted and emotionally expressive, and requires a lot to feel stimulated, driving him to seek extreme thrills to feel alive.
The Seeker is an introvert who seeks novelty and sensation.
Kinder suggests that people understand their core emotional type and then find ways to deal with them.
Now, I’m the moody, broody sort of woman, with a tendency to live in the mind and dream through life. I plot entire novels in the minutes I lie tossing in bed before sleep comes. Apparently, I’m a Focuser, and prone to become ‘vexed when idle’, needing constant stimulation.
I do tend to find ordinary life boring. I hate mundane tasks – like packing. I generally enjoy new challenges and environments. I crave the settled bliss of domestic happiness – but I also need novelty and excitement within a committed relationship.
Given my need for change, I am beginning to wonder if my constant search for a new home is a way for me to seek diversion and stimulation to stave off boredom.
I have 18 months to figure it all out – before the next bout of Moverlust strikes
