Maybe your country is only a place you make up in your own mind. Something you dream about and sing about. Maybe it’s not a place on the map at all, but just a story full of people you meet and places you visit, full of books and films you’ve been to. I’m not afraid of being homesick and having no language to live in. I don’t have to be like anyone else. I’m walking on the wall and nobody can stop me.
― Hugo Hamilton, The Speckled People: A Memoir of a Half-Irish Childhood
I have found my deserted island. For the longest time, I thought to myself that I had to travel in order to discover myself. I had to go far, far away to discover who I am, and what my deepest self is like. But recently, I have realized a new reality. I moved into my own space on Jan 17th, 2015. A momentous date in the speck of a life.
For the first time in my 31 years, I have a space of my own – a space that is truly my own. I can do to this space, whatever I want. More than that, I can be whoever I want in this space. I’m free to dance around like a crazy person or Om at 6am in the morning.
It wasn’t like I couldn’t do all of this things in my room in my parents’ home. They were amazing and they truly let me do what I wanted. But it isn’t the physical space as much as the mental freedom that I have suddenly realized. For the first time, I truly feel like a space is my own.
I clean my space everyday, cleaning the counters, washing the dishes, brushing the floors. I feel a unique sense of ownership and joy in my space. I wake up every morning and I stare at the white-washed walls. The minimalistic nature of my space, the empty walls, and spaces, really gives me room to breathe.
If I had known the joy that I would feel at having my own space, I would have partaken a long time ago. It is hard to put down on paper what I feel. It is this feeling of expansiveness – of taking up a bigger space than I actually hold that I can’t really put down on paper.
Did you feel this way when you moved out into your own space? Tell me about it.