change

I am a creature of habit. My mornings are etched in routine: I wake at 6am, head to the bathroom, and brush my teeth while I shower. I feed the dog as I wait for the kettle to boil. With my tea in hand, I scroll through Reddit or read my current book. Afterward, I take Rufus for a walk, grab a cuppa coffee, return home, do a 20-minute yoga session, and then begin work.

I stick to the same coffee shops and restaurants. I enjoy rewatching shows and movies and rereading books. Each year, I take three city trips, usually to Venice, New York, and London. Fridays are for ordering groceries online, Sundays for prepping them.

I am devoted to my routines, altering them only occasionally to fine-tune the minutiae of my day. Yet, within these confines, I find space for change. Over the last decade, I have redecorated and refurnished my flat countless times, painted the walls a new colour at least once a year. I've built a walk-in closet on a whim. I frequently immerse myself in crafts — pottery, bookbinding, furniture building, miniature making, embroidery.

I am never bored. There are always things to do, books to read, movies to watch. At heart, I am a homebody, surrounded by a tight-knit circle of friends and a delightful gaggle of surrogate nieces and nephews.

And now, here I am, on the precipice of significant change. This flat has been more than just my home; it has been my sanctuary for the past decade. And in less than a fortnight, I will bid it farewell.

I was just 27 when I first turned the key in that door. So young then, full of uncertainties about who I was and what lay ahead. Now, a decade on, I may not have all the answers, but I've come to a place where the questions no longer weigh heavily upon me. Perhaps this is it — no longer in pursuit of an elusive identity, but embracing what is and where I'm at in life.

My life has revolved around this flat. It has been my home base, my office, my atelier, my library — the place where I have always felt safe. I returned here heartbroken and cried myself to sleep. I celebrated milestones with friends, cooked dinners for too many people in a kitchen far too small. I got to know my neighbours, both within the flat complex and the wider neighbourhood. I spent nights awake, working on projects. I quit jobs and decided to go freelance full-time. Highs, lows, and the quiet in-betweens. I dyed my hair and painted my walls to reflect my shifting mood. I gave up and let go. This is where I welcomed a rescue pup into my life, where I spent hot summer days perched on the windowsill, and cold winter nights wrapped in thick blankets. Where I ceased loving long-lost lovers and discovered how to love myself.

Leaving feels like not only ending a chapter but closing an entire book. I may not be heading toward greener pastures, but rather, toward something else entirely — something fresh and unexplored. Not necessarily better, but different. And I can't wait!