A dream house

What a dream house, huh? Almost like the dream house. It's very close, if you ask me.

A place you can call home. Finally. After decades of torture by the family, room mates, noisy neighbours, loud traffic, crazy quarter and, last but not the least, a bad vibe.

I passed by this house on my way to the-little-guy-I'm-tutoring's house and not for the first time. Maybe it's the seasons and maybe it's me, but I've never noticed this house before.

Quite weird actually, since I'm usually the one to scan the surroundings. Maybe it's my affection towards the world (not) and maybe it's my obsession of having to know where I am and where the nearest exit is.

So, I was passing there the other day - again - but this time noticing the house almost devoured by ivy, standing there, in the middle of the street. It's located quite awkwardly, at the top of a dead-end street, but turned completely towards the street, the open space and a tiny green patch across the street.

It's a fancy neighbourhood, but I haven't even gone there much in the last ten or so years. Maybe it's because I went to school there and it kind of reminded me of the bad stuff more than it made me go visit it and recall the few non-painful memories I have of that place.

This was another memory in creation and I'm still not sure whether it's a good one or a bad one.

As I lifted my head as I was about to climb the last couple of stairs that take me upwards through the part, I saw this lovely house and found myself standing in the street, staring at the house. To any passer-by it would seem as if I were planning to rob the house and therefore scanning the windows, the gates and the surroundings.

I was simply bedazzled by it. There was a weird moment of silence and, although I could see a woman passing behind me, walking her dog, there wasn't a sound to be heard. I felt like I was floating in space, together with the house, the opened window that was uncovering the insides of the house and the ivy that would eventually pretty much eat up the whole house if it were unattended.

I somehow felt like a character in one of those movies, where a girl and a guy start a family, search for a new home and then park inside of a house with a for-sale sigh, imagining their life, their kids and their future in it.

There was no for-sale sign, but I still saw a film roll in front of my eyes. I saw myself on the terrace on the eastern side of the house, chilling in a wicker chair, enjoying the cool shade and waiting for a couple of my friends to drop by for a cozy hang out.

The grin on my face suddenly gets clouded over by a horrible thought - will I ever have this? Is it possible that I could get my hands on a place like this? And for what cost - a thirty-year loan from the bank - or worse?

Will I spend the rest of my life trying to overloud my neighbours and outspeak my family? The idea of an eternal housing agony pops the bubble and I'm back in the middle of the street, cars driving by, people walking past, the world still going round, faster than ever.

I tilt my head, take out my iPod and hope to save the image as it was in my head and not as it is to anyone standing in front of it.

I was there and I was happy, even if it was only in my head and it only lasted a short minute.