I lived in Toronto for less than a year, from 2006 to 2007. I lived in a little apartment in a brick building, close to parks and Vietnamese restaurants and coffee shops. I never really felt at home in Toronto, but it was the last time I had all of my possessions in one place, all of my books, records, and items I collected throughout the travels I had already been on. Over three years ago, then, I packed all of these things into boxes and shipped them to my dad’s house for storage. I then lived in Edinburgh and Osaka for a little over three years (where I inevitably collected many more books, records, and souvenirs). These days, however, back in my dad’s house for a visit, I am finally opening up those boxes again, finding things I haven’t seen and sometimes hadn’t thought of in all these years. Posters from Russia, knick knacks from Portobello Market in London, my currency collection, religious icons from Mexico, travel books, vintage magazines from Hungary…it’s all there.
It is such a joy to go through all of these things I once loved, loving them again. It also makes me feel that, sooner than later, I’d like to have my own place again, one that doesn’t feel so transient, one that I can settle in for a little while, one that I can actually call “home”.