The gate my dad made himself. It took him two years to finish this work.
The house that my father built – the house where I grew up in – is aging. More than thirty years old now, I have seen this house being built. It is a sprawling house; it is designed and built by my dad. Its line and shape is typical of my father’s design (he was a building contractor) – linear, plain, and almost austere. The rooms are built in precise geometrical patterns. Knowing that my dad has a sharp eye for details, nothing has been left to happenstance. You can sense that the windows, the doors, the walls were built in an exacting measurement. The door, or windows must be a certain size, and a certain distance. I have loved these lines, the strict adherence to symmetry. As a little boy, I would pretend I was blind, and I would grope around the rooms, and I would count my steps to find a particular room, for example. I noticed that rooms were equally spaced, and a certain number of steps would bring me to my sister’s bedroom, or my parent’s room. There was constancy and comfort in their cadence and rhythm, much like a Zen mantra.
The wide door has rich, intricate details - fine workmanship that is no longer made these days.
The furniture was also designed/built by my dad. At one time, he was a furniture maker, and I am sure these were built in his shop. The furniture is made of heavy, hard wood (mostly narra). They were sleek, linear pieces that are minimalist in their design. The beds we sleep in was carefully measured and crafted. The beds can fit any bedroom since they were built with these room sizes in mind. The living room set is characterized by straight, angular lines. There are almost no curves, or unwanted details. They are like Lego sets – when you mix and match them, or rearrange them, they will harmonize into rectangles or squares. And they are timeless in their design. One would think that these were contemporary pieces for a minimalist home. Today, they do not look dated, or old. A change in upholstery, perhaps, and they would look like they were taken out of a current issue of Architectural Digest.
Original, sturdy, and elegant, this living room set is designed by my dad.
I do not know where this sense of design has come from. While they were almost plain, they were never severe, or unbeautiful. The rich, warm color of narra, the dull sheen it emanates, and the smooth texture of these pieces make for an elegant and warm feel. Thinking about it now, I realize they are a reflection of my dad’s personality. No-nonsense, exacting, and distinct, my dad lived his life the way he wanted it – minimal fanfare, no frills. Growing up poor, the economical design seems to appeal to him. There are no details that are extraneous; there were no lines that were wasted. In their economy however, they lend certain sophistication.
Detail from the buffet table made from my father's woodwork shop.
But as you go about the finer points of the house, you begin to notice a few things. While the shapes are severe, and exacting, there are enough details to break the plainness of straight lines and angles. There are sworls, and curves, and arabesques that delight and surprise. The main entrance door while huge and angular, has bas relief carvings of intricate design. It is elaborate, and finely done. It is a kind of craftsmanship that is no longer found these days. It is a labor of strict adherence to quality and fine details. The dining table is a rectangle of narra that can seat eight, in-laid with parquet-like design of wood tiles. This is matched with chairs that are high-backed and carved with the same intricate patterns of the entrance door. The harsh lines of the dining table are broken by the curved and intricately carved top of the dining chairs that is upholstered with red checked fabric. The Zen-like minimalism of the living room furniture is enhanced by the Italian porcelains my mother chose. The room is defined by a red and gold Persian carpet that has elaborate floral design. These delicate, intricate pieces lend certain softness to the severity of the room. Surprisingly, these details do not clash, nor do they contradict each other. They, in fact, harmonize and cohere as a whole to make for a pleasant look.
My father had lived a full life. In the various reinventions of himself, he had been an artist, teacher, furniture maker, building contractor, businessman, and a politician (having served as a public servant in different offices). My father, while strict and exacting, is also characterized by tenderness and kindness, and humor. Warm and outgoing, I would wake up early in the morning to the ringing of his laughter. Because he was a politician, we would always have guests in the house, and he is at his best form talking, laughing, and being with them. While at times austere, he is also inexplicably extravagant. He would shower my mom with expensive gifts. I remember accompanying him as he meticulously chose and bought pearls for my mom, and other pieces of jewelry. He was always welcome and was known by the sales staff at various shops as he would choose and buy clothes for my mom. Himself a fastidious dresser, his clothes are elegant and stylish. Never loud, he cut a dashing figure in his heyday. Whenever he liked a certain cut, or a certain brand, he would buy multiple pieces of the same clothing, perhaps in different colors.
As a husband, he is warm, romantic and affectionate. He would hold hands with my mother whenever they are together. He was most happy when he would go out with my mom. He married late in life, and seemed to have made up for lost time by the joy and love he showered his family. As a father, while he expected the best from us, he is also generous and supportive. These are details I see in my father - intricate, rich, sometimes contradictory, but always delightful .
The house my father built is old now. It is fading, decaying, and falling apart in some parts. It is a house that is a ramshackle testimony of our family’s various enterprises: flourishes and dashes that are proofs of bursts of exuberance and optimism long overtaken by the realities of tragedies and broken hearts. It has taken on the patina of past decades; the rough and unfinished places became charming features that lent character and history. It is home for us. It is the place we seek refuge whenever the storms of life would get too much. Whenever my siblings and myself feel the need to unwind, and be ourselves, we seek our home. This is the place where we gather, and be strengthened, because we know our father will be there, because he is our home.
My dad and my siblings...on a rare occasion where all of us have gathered in the house my father built.
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