I think it was COVID that made me appreciate - and long for - home. Before that, I was always gallivanting, trying to find the next place to be, the next thing to do. So what might have started as an imposition back in 2020, sparked my craving for stability and safety.
That longing grew stronger with time, and then, at the beginning of 2023, what I had so feared happened: I was left without a place to live. Little did I know when the whole thing happened, that contrary to my fantasy that things would be solved in a matter of weeks, the process of getting myself a new house would last over six months.
Needless to say, the first half of the year was the most difficult period I have ever faced. It felt like the beginning and end of so many of the things I went through, simply because housing is one of the most elemental human needs. Without having my own place, I felt uprooted and like I had forsaken so much of my identity that nothing could go right until I got it fixed.
I spent months jumping around the apartments of all my friends with a carry on. This might be a rather easy trick for those with nomadic, free souls, but I am mildly complicated and a fierce lover of comfort and glamour. By having to leave all of my belongings in a storage unit and learn to survive with only a couple of things at hand was nothing short of a lesson in humility and resourcefulness. But I can't deny that every time I had to visit Cubesmart or lay my suitcase on the ground for every single thing, a dagger entered my heart. I shed so many tears on Ubers because of how much I dreaded the whole situation and how long the end seemed at the time.
Little by little, all the problems began to be solved, but the apartment was the last of them. I knew in my heart where I wanted to live, and even though I was confident that I had found my place, the whole process was excruciating, and long, and overwhelming. So you will understand my happiness as I write this entry, sitting on the couch of my very first apartment, where I have lived for three weeks.
I love that these four walls make me feel everything I felt I needed: safe, capable, supported, independent, happy, expansive, at peace, brave, and blessed. And I love that it's slowly getting filled with details that make it uniquely mine: the crooked vase that will always have pink roses, the cloud-shaped coffee table, and the smell of vanilla in every room. It is as me as it could get.
While I don't think I ever took anything for granted, I also don't think I have ever felt happier about a home than I do right now. I am lucky to have achieved some beautiful victories in my 30 years on this planet, but somehow this feels like one of my biggest conquests yet. I think that is because, I am building something beautiful as I continue to build myself up. And I already feel like a much different person than the one that decided to leave the place where she once had placed so many dreams, so many expectations.
Every day I look around, taking it in, thinking how much of a miracle everything is. My whole journey this year feels like a movie sometimes. There was a suspenseful build up filled with pain and questions and tears. So, being in this couch, in this apartment, really feels like I skipped to the good part, one that is only getting started.
There is nothing truer than the saying "home is where the heart is". For those houseless months, my heart was with each and every one of my friends that let me crash at their place. It was with my parents, who saw me have breakdowns and probably felt like they had a teenager among them again. And today, my heart and my home are synonymous, and I have never loved them more. I am proudly rooted in this home, and in this present, and I am finally able to sit still, breathe, and feel fortunate for this once-in-a-lifetime chance to start over, in my own terms.
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