The bathroom on the ground floor is conveniently located—it's directly accessible without having to open any other door. On the first floor, however, the bathroom is between two rooms, and the entrance to the bedroom is separate. This new layout had to be memorized. On at least two occasions, I almost ran into the wrong door. You might ask, "Why not just keep the door open?" Well, this is April, and the temperature is soaring. If it’s 40 degrees Celsius downstairs, it feels like 45 upstairs. The poor air conditioner hums away non-stop, trying to keep the room cool. Of course, the Electricity Board will reward us with a mega bill for this luxury. But how else can we survive this furnace?

The dressing mirror is in a different place here—on the left side of the bed. It had a few narrow escapes from my disoriented and overheating self. I had to bring a chair from the other room, and not wanting to trouble my wife, I decided to do it myself. After leaving the room, I completely lost my bearings. Where was the bedroom entrance? The problem was that the staircase and railing were right opposite the other room. What if I went straight and tumbled down the stairs like Jill from the nursery rhyme? It took me 15 minutes to locate the chair and move it safely.

The next challenge was figuring out how to keep the chair from becoming an obstacle in my path.

The bathroom on the first floor is a replica of the one downstairs, yet the layout of small things—like the mirror and soap dispenser—is different. My first few attempts to locate the soap dispenser were failures, but after a few visits, I finally figured it out. It’s not just my vision that hinders me, it’s also habit.

Climbing up and down the stairs for morning prayers, coffee, lunch, evening coffee, and dinner soon became routine. On the first day, my wife banned me from coming downstairs except in the morning—rubbish was being moved and the house was in disarray. Her already burdened back now had the added responsibility of bringing my meals upstairs. I felt guilty. But what could I do?

I wasn’t building a new house—it was just replacing a few tiles, a seemingly minor matter. Yet the result? Major difficulties.

Continued in 173. Gaps In The Horizon - Part 1