Because I'm too lazy to bother with the drudge of sluicing out a fish tank, I have yet to welcome any pets of the finned kind into my humble flat.

Still, I was tempted, especially since learning goldfish were lucky charms, bound to bring abundance and blessings to my home. Chinese culture is taking hold of me and I'm really starting to get into this whole feng shui thing. But I have to admit I've never been particularly big on superstition.

Rather, there is an ulterior motive behind my newfound interest in this old Chinese science of playing happy house.

In a few moments, feng shui managed to do what years of nagging from me never could - and in the process proved itself indeed a nifty trick for bringing domestic harmony.

I noticed there was something out of the ordinary as soon as I got home, even before greeting my boyfriend, who was slouched in a chair, engrossed in whatever it was he was reading.

I was in the habit of quickly eyeballing my frazzled reflection in the mirror of the bathroom, which is directly to the left as you enter our home. But this time, the bathroom door was shut.

The seismic shift inside our apartment didn't click until I made my way to the kitchen table and plonked myself in a chair. He looked up from a home-decorating magazine (yes, English-reading materials are running scarce), put it down and then said, oh-so-casually:

"By the way, we have a new rule in the house. The toilet seat always has to be left down, and we have to close the bathroom door on the way out. We don't want to flush away all our wealth, you know."

His words were in tune with the broken record I had played to him over and over since we'd first moved in together.

I had tried tantrums and reverse psychology, and was on the verge of admitting defeat over this small point of washroom etiquette, but now, finally managing to pick up my jaw from the floor, I decided to probe the source of this magical new spin of the old toilet-seat mantra.

It transpired he had seen sense in a magazine article titled, "Beginner's guide to feng shui", or something similar.

From what I could gather, feng shui translates as "wind water", and is about putting a bit of thought into arranging your living space, striving to achieve balance without blockages.

Apparently, you want harmony between the natural elements of water, wood, fire, earth and metal. Oh, and energy is a vital key too.

The article advised to brighten up dark spots with leafy plants, and bring in fish to get the qi flowing.

Who was I to argue with centuries of age-old Chinese wisdom? Besides, our apartment was looking decidedly dull, being almost completely devoid of character but for a few hasty IKEA acquisitions and a couple of paintings picked up for a steal at the Dirt Markets.

I couldn't think of a better validation for a Sunday shopping excursion.

So, co-habitation angst behind us, I jumped right on the feng shui bandwagon - and into a cab headed for the Laitai flower market.

I climbed the flower-flanked stairway to green heaven and was soon weaving through a maze of vines, meticulously sculpted bonsais, colorful orchids, and everything in-between.

The only problem was limiting myself to the few feng shui-friendly items I could manage to lug home.

Contact the author at viva_goldner@yahoo.com.au

(China Daily 05/23/2007 page15)