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Friday, April 17, 2009
When I considered moving yet again this summer, it was going to be closer to the middle of the city. I have moved every year for the past 6 summers; thus, I am thinking that the time has come yet again to put everything I own in two suitcases and continue my life as a MASH unit. There was a point in time when I had moved 9 times over 2 years, so I am accustomed to being a hermit crab. With Spring rolling around, I began to look at the real estate pages in the paper.
The flat where I live now has forced me to become a bit more tied down than I’m generally willing to be. It was the first flat I rented that was unfurnished (a dreaded word in a young renter’s vocabulary), which mostly translates to “you’re stuck here for at least two years now that you’ve invested in the place.” A better offer may not come along, and if it does, it’s “til end of lease do us part,” and that’s if you find movers you can afford.
I’m not married. I have no children, no family on this side of the ocean, and I do freelance work. I ought to be able to pick up and move whenever I want. I started to do a mental inventory on what I’d have to do to move. There’s the bed my best friend and I put together, the desk and the dresser Anna and I assembled by ourselves when she came over from Boston to help me move. There are six paintings, given to me by a friend as a thank you gift, and hung by her in the bedrooms. The ramp someone built so I could go out onto my patio by myself would have to be thrown away. And we would have to tear out the make-shift electrical outlet that a great guy friend and I made when I needed a place to plug in my chair on the other side of the room, where there was no outlet before. (We argued about politics the entire time we set up the electric cord.)
A year ago, I was panicked about how I would turn the flat I had just rented into a home, seeing as I was unable to move a stick of furniture by myself. Now I see the loving and almost miraculous way that it was done. There are still bits and bobs I want to change, like I still don’t have a microwave or a coffee table. But every detail that is here, I’ve seen it completed, and it reminds me of someone who has help me before and would be willing to do so again. All of the sudden, I begin to feel a little like I have a weird urban family that invests in me and I invest in them. I begin to feel a little more tied down, a little bit more established, and a little bit okay with that.
I close the newspaper and my roommate pours me a cup of coffee. It’s from the local market where the Nigerian woman sells it. Every time I visit the coffee lady, she laughs at me and tells me to get a boyfriend. I think it’s the best coffee in the city. I smile and look around the flat, then head outside to the patio and watch the boats on the river. I love the view, and I love all the history I can see from my own window. And though I have absolutely no investment expertise and no market experience, I suddenly decide that real estate prices will be much lower if I wait until next year to move.