So, I’ve moved out of the shared place in the center of town and into a new apartment of my very own. *Sigh*. Three and a half years ago I sold all my things and narrowed my life down to two suitcases and some rubbermaid bins (about five, I think). I have brought those two suitcases around the globe, living in various shared apartments. Mostly good experiences.
Now I’m tired. I’m tired of moving around and I’m ready to stay put. I got the citizenship I was waiting for, my work is going better, and I’m 32. I want to live alone and have dinner parties and not have to say goodbye to people as I board a plane to the next adventure. This is it.
A man I’ll call R found me this place, a one-bedroom apartment just outside of town. I’ll have to catch a bus into the center (or walk just under half an hour), but for a great rental price I get so much more space than I had before. I’ve moved from the likes of a Franciscan cell to a real apartment. The ceilings are high, and my view is spectacular from every window. I see hills, I see a courtyard with olive trees, I see a castle built in medieval times, and as I take my coffee in the kitchen in the morning, I watch noble, wise cypresses bowing their heads ever so slightly in the wind.
I can dance tango in my kitchen. My bed is big. The bathroom has good lighting.
This is the most beautiful place I have ever lived. It’s a dream! I deserve this, I really do. 
And the best part is, I simply allowed it to happen.
*Pictures to follow
