The demolishing of what was once a carefully designed toilet is finally underway. Several weeks ago, the neighbours one floor below us complained of water leaking and staining their ceiling. After some checks, it was found to be due to the building’s old age so with some subsidy, we now have to redo the waterproofing for the toilets. We have two – one in the kitchen and one in the master bedroom.
Today, they began works in the kitchen’s toilet. First up, hacking away at the tiles, removing the toilet bowls and all other attachments. What I didn’t anticipate though, was the massive noise we’d have to endure. The drilling went on for hours and even after it stopped, I still felt the tremors and heard the ringing in my ears.
It really felt as though Einstürzende Neubauten were playing live in my house. There was no escape. And like all music (experimental, in this case) the sounds continued to ring long after the songs had ended.
Totally random information that’s unrelated and yet, somehow connected to this entry, is that Einstürzende Neubauten actually means collapsing new buildings, and the band’s trademark is using custom-built instruments made out of scrap metal, building tools and samples of noises in their performances. Destruction was part of their music order.
After the contractors left my house, I surveyed the mess and shuddered at the thought of them ‘doing’ my bedroom toilet next. I am not looking forward to sleeping in my bed when that happens.
Yes people, it’s my princess-and-the-pea moment. Except that the pea here is a destroyed toilet.
Destruction. Does it really need to take place before improvements can be made?
Let’s take a house’s foundation, for example. To build a simple one-storey structure, the foundation created would be perfect for that purpose, and nothing more. But once expansion is required (multiple storeys) and perhaps, further extensions outwards, the builders would have to destroy what was once familiar – home – and start rebuilding from scratch. Imagine the hacking, demolishing and noise that takes place.
What happens then when your dreams grow bigger and your potential increases? When you pray and ask the Dream Maker to extend your borders… what actually are you asking for? Are you ready for the demolishing of what was once familiar – not because it was necessarily bad but because it’s not sufficient for the amazing things that lie in store?
Growth gets painful, noisy, confusing and at times, plain dirty. At the end of the day, you clean up the mess and sigh with relief, thinking that maybe, it’s all over, until a new day arrives and the hacking begins. Then there’s the drilling deeper (introspection, anyone?), the painstaking brick-laying (which seems to take forever) and the moment when you survey the process and ask, what in the world is happening? Weren’t the old days better? Can’t we just be happy with the way things were?
The only thing that grounds you then is the hope of something beautifully glorious ahead which you can’t quite see yet. So you hurry to the blueprints to recapture that vision, to flesh out the rooms of the future.
That’s why I read the blueprint of life. It’s what I need to get through my days when I feel overwhelmed by the mess that greets me. It reminds me of promises made, dreams painted and one day… a new and glorious place to live in. My life sometimes feels as though it’s constantly under construction, a works-in-progress.
Destruction. I think I can deal with it.
Especially when I know the contractor in charge is the Dream Maker.
He is the best builder I ever know. After all, He made Himself the chief cornerstone of my new home.
Einstürzende Neubauten, play on. Your music is now no longer the sound of massive destruction but one of hope. Great things are ahead of me.
And yes, my toilets too.