When I was growing up in my childhood home, I had always seen the symbiotic relationship that my parents had whenever there was an issue with house maintenance. The roles were clear. My father was in charge of everything that involved the home's care, whether it was if it needed painting, the cars needed to go to the shop, or there was an issue with the pipes. On the other hand, my mom had always had a knack for fixing, whether it was the vacuum cleaner, irons, radios; she was even a great car mechanic. It made sense. They complimented each other. You could say that my father took over macro issues while my mom focused on the micro problems.
Nevertheless, they also had many things in common that both liked to do around the house. They both loved gardening; they took pride in their work and dedicated their Saturday mornings to share this task. Gardening is a hobby that was inherited by neither my siblings nor I.
I honestly never saw my father fix a light bulb, but at the same time, I never saw a light bulb that was not working correctly. Everything was working before anyone even knew it had stopped functioning. I inherited from my parents and live by the phrase: "Don't wait until tomorrow if you can do it today."
My ex-husband and I began our lives together in an old and worn out apartment. It was evident that it had received little to non-maintenance over the years. With the help of a family technician by that point, and under the strict orders of grandfathers from my dad's side, we were able to bring out the best of the worn-down apartment and make it a home, our home.
We lived in this apartment for the first four and a half years of our marriage. I can say that we lived happily. I must confess I did learn the hard way to deal with and fix some of the home's inconveniences.
I remember the day that I learned and turned into an electrician. I turned on the stove, but all of a sudden, the lights in my room turned on instead, and I could feel my heart beating faster. The thought of ghosts haunting the home crossed my mind. My first reaction was to run to Mr. F in the hopes that he would help. My heart was beating out of my chest, and my eyes transmit confusion. I told him what had just happened. I could tell that he was just as perplexed as I was. He calmly told me to turn off the stove and suggested that we ate a sandwich instead. There was no way I agreed to his offer. Yes, of course, we could eat a sandwich but for the right reasons. Avoiding the problem is not a solution; at least it's not my way out.
I went to the electricity closet; What was going on? What was causing the burning fuse? Did I have to replace them?.
I didn't even know where to begin, and as you may know, there were no YouTube tutorials on "how to fix fuses of an ancient home " in those times.
It was all trial and error, and slowly I began to understand and learn how things worked. Until one day, the electricity shut down entirely, and the light didn't turn back on. It was a complete blackout. It was not a question of changing the fuses at home.
Sometimes there are underlying messages that we are not able to perceive.
I read that the absence of light at home is related to one not being able to "see" a problem that will produce suffering, but at the same time that we cannot solve at that present moment. It could not be more accurate.
Everything that I had done had nothing to do with what was the solution. It wasn't the fuse of our home that needed fixing. The problem was outside, in the box on the street.
With the audacity and ignorance that came with my age, I decided to approach the electrical system that corresponded to my apartment and removed the burned fuses. Mr. F had called the electrical company to come in and fix it. That day happened to be a holiday, and we both knew that they weren't open for business.
Mr. F thought it was my fault because of the "experiments" that I had been doing to fix the electrical issues.
He sure did a lot of complaining about someone who insisted that he had to work regardless of the holiday and couldn't do it without light. He had no interest; nevertheless, he was an exemplary boy scout.
I went to the hardware store. I bought the necessary pieces, got home, and changed them.
As soon as the guard from the condominium realized what I had done, he freaked out and yelled at me as I had never seen him do before. He explained that to replace the fuses, I needed a specific tool and shoes with rubber soles. I could have gotten seriously electrocuted.
Mr. F never found out about this incident. The power was up and running, and our light was back on. Problem solved. Lesson learned.
The car that we had during that time came damaged from the fabric and worked on a damaged motor. And when I say this, I mean it. Most of the time you hit the breaks, it would turn off. Always? No, but frequently enough to make us crazy. It happened when crossing on a yellow light or the "main street."
In the beginning, I thought that it happened when its maintenance was due. In other odd situations that you pray, " no, please, not now ." Then it got to the point where this happened too frequently.
There was a moment where it got so bad that the car shop turned into my second home. Mr. F was not interested in following the technician's recommendations. He got very nervous when the car turned off. And when it did happen, I was instructed by him to fix it because he was the one driving. I had to leave the car, open the car hood, adjust the motor with a coin amidst the honking cars in a busy street. I knew that when people saw a woman urging the car to move, they probably wanted to cry.
The car also has symbolism. It will be a theme of another post.
In another incident, we had an issue with plumbing from the kitchen. The plumber assured me that he could come and fix it sometime during the day. Meanwhile, he gave me instructions that I could begin trying. Mr. F sat and observed as I tried to correct the problem. But I wasn't going to let the apartment flood.
Coincidently, water leaks are related to emotions. According to the Chinese, water leaks correlates with the loss of joy and hope.
No, I am not joking. Happens to be that there was wisdom in this apartment. I would have never understood them 33 years ago.
I never fully understood his lack of interest in fixing the issues that presented at home. He repeatedly said that resolving those issues was foreign to him and, therefore, to help could cause further problems. But yet again, he didn't even feel the necessity to call in the technician.
One night I found myself reading a book with a candle because there was a blackout in the whole city, that is what I thought. It was usual at that time because of the bombs and terrorism.
Mr. F interrupted without even greeting me as he arrived at the apartment. He began frantically yelling how we were the only apartment that didn't have power. I remember answering with my heart on my throat: "And what's the problem with that?". He continued ranting and yelling, and I just sat there staring at his little show.
Finally, he left his pride aside and said: "We have to do something about it." To that, I responded what my mom always told us when we used the word "we" in what could be considered a "you "problem, "Then why don't you call "we" then."
I gave up and went to see the electric closet and fixed the issue. In Mr. F's mind, it was my responsibility, a given, that I was, in fact, the one who was in charge of fixing those problems. Plus, "I was not aware that there was not a power outage in the city." That was just too much.
Disappointment, disillusion. Disconnection and bewilderment
Today, I sincerely thank him because I can fix all of these issues personally, with pride.
I never understood his lack of interest, which later translated to apathy and blatantly ended in a lack of responsibility.
Mr. F would have always preferred to call a technician every time an inconvenience was presented and have another person fix what he was perfectly capable of doing or even trying. We were just married. We couldn't afford those types of luxury.
My kind, attentive sweetheart, appeared for moments, but he still appears. And when that happened, there were no issues. He was pleasant and sweet.
I was getting to know a whole other side of him, which even scared me a bit. I cried all of the tears that I had never shed before getting married. Before, we would get into disagreements and quickly resolved them with patience and communication.
Now Mr. F lost his patience instantly, and as his fury escalated, his voice became louder and louder.
Maybe, even unconsciously, he was showing signs of cognitive dissonance.
I believe that pretending to live a life that wasn't what he wanted was the reason for his unconscious manifestations in those insignificant moments or maybe not that insignificant.
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