When I decided to make the move a reality, I knew there would be a long road ahead. Besides applying for the proper visa (with a rather user-UNfriendly website as my primary resource), I would also have to figure out how to uproot my entire life. I’m in my mid-thirties, so I had a decent collection of books, décor, office and art supplies, pots and pans, and clothes. I had also invested in a few nice pieces of furniture to go along with my secondhand wooden pieces. It was a cozy setup I had going on. Shipping my life overseas wasn’t really doable, so I had to purge most of my belongings. My three most expensive items (bed, sofa, and PC) went to family, though I hope one day to get a proper PC setup here. Furniture went to whoever would take it, as did most of my books. So many things were left behind for charity. What I couldn’t bear to part with ended up in a storage unit that I’m praying doesn’t end up growing mold (It’s climate controlled, but I still worry) and my suitcase. I’ll transport what I can, but I’m at a loss for some of it.
Even with all the preparing I had been doing, it was still jarring book the flight this time. I was going to wait. We were going to get married first. But Hurricane Ida blew in and wrecked my home. Fortunately, none of my loved ones were hurt, but the entire area and my cozy little apartment were not so lucky. The ceiling was a soggy, broken, moldy mess, and I had to move out. “Why pack up my life twice?” I wondered. “Let’s just do this,” I said, and I did.
It’s strange to live somewhere that when you put your hand on something, you cannot say, “This is mine,” when you could say that for so long. I have three shelves of a bookcase, three drawers, some space in a wardrobe, and half of a bedside table. That is quite an adjustment from a full apartment. It feels selfish to complain about that loss, but it’s a big change! We grow accustomed to certain things. As I homebody, I was most comfortable in my home, my private haven. My fiancé kindly bought me a little modular desk so I could have a bit more privacy than what the kitchen table has to offer. I love my little corner space between bookcase and bed. It is where I write, draw and paint, listen to music, and use my laptop. I’ve just started burning candles as well for ambience.
On the other hand, there is something refreshing about starting from scratch. My creativity had stagnated, and my emotional well-being was a struggle. Losing so much almost feels like I’ve molted, shed away my dead skin. The Phoenix died and crumbled away, and now I’m emerging from the ashes, a new pink little creature.
As time goes on, this place will feel less like THEIRS and more like OURS. For now, I engage my senses, pursue creative endeavors, and enjoy the addition of conviviality into my life.