Moving in, out, on

And there I am. A station for the next five months. A place where everything can be unpacked because daily life and seasons changing will be experienced here. Now I have a sock drawer and cards on a wall and a bathroom, completely for me.

Now I’m alone, but not lonely (yet). I’m in the attic of a three story building and it’s clear that my tower isn’t ivory. The stairs creak, the neighbour downstairs has a bird, the school buses outside make the floor tremble lightly. I’m closer to the city centre, closer to bustling life. I’m free of showing my best for every interaction with a house-mate.

I bought towels, yesterday. I still need a few plates and maybe I’ll get some pillows, because there’s no couch and I want to keep a little distance between me and full time bed lounging. My place, because I can call it mine for the next five months, is small, but like a good fit. No room for intruders nor noticeable absences.
Yes, I’ll very probably never be able to show any friends and loved ones around (the international ones, anyway). I don’t know if I’d even want to. This is my set of training wheels, and I want to make them my own before I show off the stunts I can do with them.

I left the AirBnB on Tuesday and it feels like another year. I left the farm a month ago and it feels like another world. I’m here now. New place, new stuff, evolving me. Maybe the best thing right now about this “own” apartment is what a present reminder it is of what I can do. I can research, settle and take care of things. I can make meals, get up for a job, participate in something. I am a someone because I’m part of a few things. It’s a strange feeling to be conscious of, but we’ll see where it goes. I’m going to keep moving, no matter on what level.

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