I first moved to England in August 2000. My first address was in Girton, Cambridge. It was a 2 bedroom semi-detached house with a huge garden in the back. I then moved closer to Cambridge’s city centre in a terraced house, still with 2 bedrooms but smaller. This one, however, I rented unfurnished. I started buying furniture – sofa, bed, wardrobe, dining table, coffee table, book shelves. I had begun to root myself in this country with the acquisition of these assets. For me, that was a turning point. I had actually started a life albeit I realised that late.
Then I moved to another 2 bedroom flat in Chatham in Kent. Yes, chav central. But my place had this fantastic view of the River Medway. This move was brought about by a more rooting event — a permanent job in the UK. I quit my previous job; one that had allowed me to see and travel to different places. A job with a life packed in 2 or 3 suitcases. When I took the job that I am in right now, it strengthened my ties with this country. However, I also realised that I miss big city living. So, when I was offered the chance, I moved to London. Yet again a 2 bedroom flat on the east side, just past Canary Wharf. My life felt almost complete. I was living in a city that I love and it also made it easier to work out a relationship with my boyfriend as it would only take 40 minutes max to get from my place to his.
But as fate would have it, that relationship has broken. I was devastated. Just when I thought I could start picking up the pieces, another bomb dropped — I must move out of my flat as it has been sold. The buyers initially bought it as an investment but changed their minds, instead, they are giving it to their daughter. I was given a month’s notice, short but well within the terms of my tenancy. However, it was something that I could have done without.
As a temporary fix, some good friends had let out an extra room for me whilst I look for another place of my own — most probably to buy. So, from a 2-bedroom semi-detached house, I am now moving into a room. Most of my things are going into storage temporarily, to storage unit 4057. When I signed the contracts last Thursday and saw the unit, it hit me. The life that I’ve had so far is going to be stacked in boxes over boxes within this 100 sq ft of space in 5 days’ time. I felt sad and dejected. It wasn’t at all that I was leaving this flat, I reckon that it is the thought of parting with these things that I have collected along the way is making me feel melancholy. They have been with me every step of the way, making me feel quickly at ease wherever the new place may be. That with every new shell, my bum would be comfortable chilling out on the same 2-seater red sofa in front of the same telly. Even when the surroundings have changed, having the same furniture — ones that I call my own — I feel right at home.
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