Because of a chain of events starting three months ago (featuring a PhD application, Odin Theatre’s ISTA and a Good Friday procession), I find myself today waiting to welcome the crowd that will inspect the house that I am vacating after my life took a series of an unexpected turns.
But this is not about those unexpected events, it is about the strange feeling of having been one of the crowd myself, inspecting this same house three years ago, full of expectations and hopes for what was going to be the house of the happily ever after.
We inspected this house in one of those hot days that you almost give up on your plans because it is just too much effort. We had three houses to visit, this was the first one. The occupant, a shy man in his thirties, fussing around the garage. When I tried to engage him in a conversation (did you like living here? how are the neighbours?) he smiled monosyllabic answers, eager to leave as soon as possible.
We loved the house at first sight. Smaller than the one we were leaving, but much nicer and better designed. It felt immediately comfortable, almost European, with its tiny yard facing the railway and the sound of trains passing at regular intervals.
I wonder who will be, the inspecting crowd, whether it’ll be young families or the usual man-bun-types eager to move into this hipsters’ nest. I wonder how will they see the house (gone the interesting pieces of furniture, now only pile of boxes ready to be shipped), how will they see us, which dreams will they bring along, which hopes, measuring the rooms in their mind, imagining their own beds and tables and pictures in our house. And we’ll smile politely allowing yet another crumble of our existing life to go.
And so I wait. Curious to read all the potential stories for my happily ever after house.