Alone in all the best ways

I put on jazz music in the background now when I sit down to read a book. It's too quiet otherwise. I check the door about five times every night to make sure it's locked because I have this weird fear that someone will break in. I leave a lot of lights on throughout my apartment cause I've always had a fear of the dark. I walk around naked a lot. I also spill a lot of things on my naked skin and sometimes it hurts if it's something hot. I wish I was wearing clothes in those moments. I ask Alexa to tell me the headlines every morning. First thing I do when I get out of bed even if I have to pee like no tomorrow, is turn on the Nespresso and then go pee so the machine can warm up by the time I finish in the bathroom.

Life has been different since beginning to live on my own just over a week ago. It's the first time in two and a half years that I am entirely on my own without any plan to live with anyone ever again (unless that person is my husband). I'm enjoying this, I really am. Nonetheless, I've had to make a bunch of adjustments for the moments when I feel like it's a little too quiet, dark, cold, or lonely.

I'm trying to give myself grace because it's only been about 10 days and prior to that, I was with someone else almost every single day. It's normal for these changes to take some time to get used to and it's normal to feel a little lonely from time to time.

I've been putting a lot of work into my space over the last 10 days and although I can't say I'm done yet, I feel really good about the progress. I enjoy doing it when I know it's solely for my own enjoyment. I've been doing a lot of reflection, meditation, and soul work. It's nice to know that I'm doing it because of a desire for self-improvement and not because I feel lost or any sort of negative feeling. I actually feel really happy.

Being happy is convoluted because sure there's that fleeting feeling of "in the moment happiness" where something makes you feel euphoric. The kind of happy I'm talking about though is that ever-lasting one. The kind where you don't really stop feeling it and just fully get to immerse yourself in the depths of it. I really feel that way and have been for some time now. This whole living on my own thing has just been the cherry on top. It's been exactly what I needed to keep riding this high.

I guess this is more so about my gratitude to myself than anything else. I am so proud of the woman I'm becoming and how fricken strong and resilient I am. This year was so tough in all the worst ways and really, I promise this isn't even an exaggeration. I fully lost myself so badly at one point and those who stuck around saw my comeback. I have good people in my life who held those crutches for me and let me lean on them when I couldn't walk anymore. I had a tough fricken year and to see me at this point writing about achievements and continuing every single day to practice resilience and gratitude no matter how many times I've been kicked to the dirt this year? I'm really grateful that I kept trying and didn't let any of those hardships put me down. God, I really am proud of myself.

And so, I live alone. Happy, surrounded by the most incredible people, employed and thriving at what I do, and most importantly, I didn't lose my light.

Thank you for coming back time and time again to read my posts. It really means the world to me.

Warmth

I think one of the best compliments I can receive is for someone to tell me that I bring them comfort, warmth, a feeling of home. I recently learned that I will be living on my own as of a couple of weeks from now which is actually something I've been looking forward to for some time. With that in mind, I have been making small changes to my apartment to get it to become a home rather than just the place I'm living in. In my efforts however, I failed to be grateful for what I already have, the home I had already built.

It was June 2019 when I moved. I remember it because it was the day of the Raptors parade after they had won the championship. Arguably, it was supposed to be a great day. Needless to say, I literally hated my life and my decisions on that day. The apartment I had moved into was a literal DUMP. Everything was dirty and there was so much furniture in there that just DID NOT FIT and looked so ugly I literally wanted to cry. My parents kept telling me to be thankful of the fact that I didn't have to invest money into new furniture and just keep my head down and work it out. I didn't want to at the time though, I just wanted my dream downtown Toronto condo that was modern and cute and where I could meet cute guys in the elevator. BOY WAS I WRONG.

It took me approximately two weeks of scrubbing that place DAILY to bring it to somewhat of a decent state. I think I cried on the daily regretting my every decision to move there. At some point however, it got easier. I started adding pieces of me to the place, my mom would always send me back with a trunk full of stuff for the apartment. Slowly, I guess the apartment stopped being a place I detested and rather, a place I longed to go back to. I suppose that when most of your things are in one place, it kind of elicits that desire to return.

I didn't realize it until about a year ago, how much that apartment truly meant to me. My ex boyfriend had just left after a two months trip and I felt as if there was an empty space that remained in the apartment. I had gotten used to his presence and everything felt a little bit emptier without him. Shortly thereafter, and only after the breakup, I realized that the apartment is my home even without a person to call home. I needed to protect what was mine and what didn't have the same ability to change as a relationship status would.

And so, over the last year or so, I protected my space, the place I came to, to find peace. The bed I slept in, the bed I cried in, the room I laughed in, the space I created memories in. Ultimately, all of that is mine.

Two days ago, a few friends came over to say hi cause they were in the neighbourhood. One of them had been in my apartment before, the other two had not. I was met by such wholesome compliments about myself and my space and it was just so nice to hear. It made me happy to hear that my space reflects a feeling of warmth of coziness and that it's reminiscent of me and my personality. That someone feels comforted being in my space. It felt so good to hear those things and, I myself, was warm on the inside.

My only hope is that I always give off that vibe and that I can make every person I come into contact with, feel at ease to speak to me, to interact with me, to share a laugh with me. The world is awfully cold and it's nice to be someone that brings warmth.

On the plane ride home

I have been roaming the western part of Europe for about 14 days, on a trip that some may say would be one of a lifetime. With tears in my eyes as the plane takes off the ramp and steering upwards towards the sky, I look forward to going home. I am excited to take a shower in my own bathroom, put on a fresh pair of pj’s and ease myself into the most comfortable bed I know… mine.

I do love to travel as most people do, but there’s something almost anticipatory about being back to the familiar, to going home. While my heart is heavy because of the countless amazing connections made and now left behind, I look forward to the next adventure leading me to the end of the year.

I spent 14 days in Europe going from Spain to Portugal with tiny stops along the way in France, Andorra and Gibraltar. I had my passport stamped 4 times and that felt celebratory. I did a little dance inside my own head with every inking stamp that touched the empty pages. Although foreign, Europe always feels a little familiar since it is the continent I once upon a time left, 14 years ago. I’ve missed the smell of cigarettes on patios, the salty scent of the sea, fresh espresso in the mornings and the rich taste of culture and history that filled every street. It’s truly hard to find enough fitting words to explain what this trip did to my soul because there aren’t words that quite make sense. Where would I even start?

Do I tell you about the first time my bare feet hit the sand and water on the beach in Barcelona? The first time I made a friend? The way my heart beat out of my chest when I was kissed for the first time? Or do I tell you about the time we drove through mountains in our little Fiat 500 with music blaring through the speakers filling every inch of the car? Do I tell you about the way  I had a heart to heart with a stranger who listened to my deepest darkest secrets and fears and took all of that information away without so much as knowing my name? Do I tell you about the relief I felt upon telling someone exactly that and knowing I won’t ever see them again?

The truth is that I could sit here and write for ages describing my every day, my every lived experience and you wouldn’t understand a thing because you aren’t me and you don’t comprehend what I felt with every passing moment. The way I filled my lungs with air on the beach because I wanted to remember the smell forever. The way I wrapped my fingers so tightly in between someone else’s to remind myself that it’s okay to feel and appreciate affection, even if temporary. The truth is that I consumed every ounce of joy that was thrown my way, absorbed the knowledge, took in the sound of the waves hitting the shore. But none of this would make you feel even a smidge of what I felt because you weren’t there and you aren’t me.

While spending some time soaking up the sun on a beach in Faro with a cold cider in hand, I remembered the pure joy I used to feel as a child building a sand castle. I got up and remembered seeing a bucket and some gear in the villa and went on to satisfy a child-like guilty pleasure. My bare feet hit the concrete around the villa within about thirty seconds of walking and a triumphant smile spread across my face when I found the sand castle building supplies, in the exact place I remembered seeing them. I galloped my way back to the beach (in a very unattractive way) filled with excitement about the project I was about to take on. After about 25 minutes of pure frustration and a whole lot of lop-sided buckets of sand hitting the flat surface surrounded by a “dam”, I gave up. Who knew sand castle building was that hard? How the heck did I do it as a kid? While my inner child was healed and I felt a certain satisfaction for trying to achieve the task, I couldn’t wait for a shower.

I’m not gonna sit here and tell you about my not-so-gracious moment in the sea where I was taken down by a wave and hit my head off the ground while swallowing an obnoxious amount of salty water. I’m also not gonna tell you about the way my entire two piece bikini not only came off me but was filled so densely with sand that I was carrying a diaper of it and suddenly had a pushup bra when I finally made it out of the water. I also will not tell you how many times I had to wash my hair because I kept finding sand particles all over and thought I would die. I won’t tell you about all that because it was just all types of messed up.

Instead, I’ll tell you about the outdoor shower at the villa and the way I felt like it was out of a movie to be under the rainfall shower head while the sun was still shining outside and I could still hear the waves hitting the shore in the distance. I’ll tell you about the epic naps I took after the long hours spent sunbathing. The heat radiating from my skin when I would wake up and feel the sunburn.

I fell in love so many times, over and over, with my life. I gained an appreciation for myself and how far I’ve come. The truth is, I felt lost at some points earlier this year, I couldn’t find the voice I needed and now, I feel that voice echoing louder and louder with every passing day. They say that travelling is good for the soul and I agree. It makes you see life differently. It makes you appreciate the little things, the fleeting moments, the ones you wish could last just a little longer. It makes passion ten-fold and a kiss feel like fireworks.

More so than that, travelling always makes me appreciate being home just a little more. While I have been itching to go away for so long, for once, I can’t wait to go home. To be in the familiar, in the routine, with those I love. To have a little more than a fleeting moment, to have stability. I love to travel but I also love having a home.

I’m sure I’ll have more to share soon, but for now, I look forward to my phone coming off airplane mode and publishing this little journal written up in the clouds.

I’m home baby