Community & being an aunt
It's 4pm on a Friday. Spring has erupted in a riot of colours, and an ice cream craving washes over me. I pop over to my neighbour's door, where she's caught up in a meeting and her kids are stifled by boredom. Seizing the opportunity, I take them out for an ice cream treat. En route, a playful squabble erupts over who has the honour of holding Rufus's leash. Today, they're treated to two scoops each instead of the usual one, because as an aunt I don't have to say no.
Upon our return, they dash into the community garden, mingling with other children from the building, their laughter melding with the afternoon air. I venture into another neighbour's flat, where we settle into their garden, drinking coffee and soaking up the first sun of the year. Later that afternoon, one of the kids knocks on my door to play MarioKart.
On Saturday, my neighbours from the garden, kindly offer me a lift to the supermarket. Together, we navigate the aisles, turning the chore into an adventure. Amidst the shelves, their son spots a toy he's drawn to. And I say yes, because as an aunt I don't have to say no. And he has a birthday coming up anyway. Post-shopping, we collectively decide to share a meal. The kitchen comes alive as we prepare protein oat pancakes, and their son sneaks fruits off the counter to share with Rufus. The day unfolds with us spending all our hours together, a welcome respite for the parents, still hungover from the previous night's festivities. Seizing the opportunity to give them a break, I take their son out for a leisurely walk. Our journey leads us to a children's store, where he selects a detective set, his excitement barely containable. We walk past a shoe store and he sees 'the coolest pair of sneakers in the world'. I knew he needs a new pair, so I buy it for him. Because as an aunt I don't have to say no.
We spend the afternoon in their garden. Rufus basks in the sun and chases the mouse that has claimed dominion over the space. We alternate between sips of coffee and lemonade, the day seamlessly transitioning into an evening where we come together to cook dinner. As we dine, bits and pieces of their meal are affectionately shared with Rufus. Their son declares me the best aunt on the planet, snuggling up beside me and Rufus — a significant leap from just a few weeks prior when he harboured fears of even touching the dog.
I return to my flat, a space that's become a repository of memories from all the children in my building whom I affectionately regard as my nieces and nephews. The front of my fridge is adorned with their artwork, inside there's always a cheese string or two, ready for when hunger strikes them. And nestled between the cushions of my couch, I find the occasional leftover snack package or two. Each detail serves as a testament to the unexpected family I've found within these walls.
On Sunday, I wake up and meet up with another neighbour and her dog. We venture to the dog park together, letting our pups run free while we catch up. Later, I find solace in a quiet lunch, accompanied only by the pages of a book, before the day transitions into an afternoon of coffee and conversation with yet another neighbour. Then, a text message arrives, an invitation from the garden neighbours, asking if I'd like to join them for a walk.
Despite never having been much of a people person, nor leaning towards extroversion, the discovery of this apartment building and the community within it has filled me with gratitude. On days when the shadow of depression looms near, I find solace and distraction within this network of support. Watching over their children, entrusting my dog to their care in my absence, spending sunny weekends together, the communal act of cooking and sharing meals, forges a bond that transcends mere neighbourliness.