Never Buy a House

A few weeks before my Papa passed, I was sitting with him in his room at home. He had been bedridden for so many months with leukemia that every conversation we had had become more and more precious to my existence. I know he was suffering and I know he was in pain. More than anything, I was aware that he was frustrated. He was frustrated with being disabled. He was frustrated with being incapable of talking for long periods of time. He was uncomfortable and sad. 

He looked at me, very deeply, and said, "Mija, never buy a house. This is probably the best way I am going to save you a lot of pain." 

I was so confused. What did the house have to do w/ my pain? 

He continued, "You're never fully going to enjoy it. You're going to work all your life for it and you're going to suffer. You're going to be chained to it and if you have to wait to retire to enjoy it, what is the point?" 

This was such a poignant conversation between me and my old man. He was so expressive in his delivery. He meant this statement. He explained to me how most of his life was spent on the dream of having a home, owning a home. He said he thought it was a good idea to not rent anymore and have something permanent. At the age of 59, he still wasn't done paying for it and most of the headaches were house-related. 

He said, "Mija, see the world. Travel. Forget about saving. You're single. You're smart. You have it all. You don't need a home. Make the world your home and live anywhere and everywhere you choose to live." 

I was so shocked. 

Growing up, all I really understood is that buying a home was something that one would show off to others as a sign of your own individual success. But now I was feeling like it was a burden. A burden my father realized took a lot of his happiness away. We lived in South Central Los Angeles. We were stuck there. We couldn't find anyone who would buy our house. The conditions of our neighborhood probably drove most buyers away. 

Needless to say, I discarded the 'buy a home' ideal. I saw my father's pain as a sign. He had struggled and even though he thought it was a waste, he did in fact pass on a lesson to me. The so-called American Dream had been redefined. It was not about coming here, settling and buying a home to call one's own. It was about freedom. It was about adventure and endless opportunities.  

The following year, after his death, I went to Spain for the first time, the place he regretted never have gone.