Packing dreams for new home

I never imagined I would one day be renting an apartment in another continent. Now, I’m nervous and excited about the transition

In two weeks my partner and I will begin to transition into life in our own apartment. It’s literally across the road from where we live, and on the top floor of a three-story house. We weren’t actively looking to move as we both enjoy living here, with my in-laws. It’s also not easy to come upon rental apartment listings in Tramin, since most homes with spare rooms run holiday-on-the-farm arrangements. But some months ago, we found a listing for what looked like a tastefully decorated apartment with a balcony. When we realised how close it is to where we currently live, we considered checking it out. Though we’d initially agreed we’d take our time with arriving at a decision, after walking through it, we were totally besotted and said yes instantly. I was drawn to the idea of not having to buy things, moving in simply with our suitcases and my books, and maybe our sound system. My partner found himself excited by the balcony. Though we have a terrace that overlooks the church, the balcony in the new apartment boasts a totally different view. The apartment also faces another side of Tramin and we’re hoping it will be somewhat quieter, considering we no longer will be the first to hear the church bells ring. 

I’m nervous and excited about the transition. I never imagined I would one day be renting an apartment in another continent. I also feel a bit emotional about leaving the financial and emotional security of my in-law’s generous providence. Living with them for over a year allowed me to save money for the first time in my life. It has been a joyful experience for me to, for a change, actually feel like I have savings that I earned, and to feel the warmth of a financial blanket. The last ten years in Delhi, while wonderful and exhilarating, were also filled with an everyday precariousness. I remember vividly the times when I had less than R200 in my account and was too proud to borrow; times when I had to accept unsatisfying work because it would help me pay my bills and keep me afloat; times when I felt incredible house envy because I felt sure all my friends had better living conditions than me.

Since I moved to Tramin I have known this peculiar feeling of being tethered to place and yet free from the impulse to own things. I have learned a way of belonging that is not attached to ownership. It’s a liberating feeling. For many years I was sure the point of working hard was to finally have something to your name, in the form of property. In the last year I have made my peace with being someone who rents. I think the process of giving up, surrendering, so many objects that I had acquired over a decade of living in Delhi was restorative, in that sense. I felt like I had this chance to shed so much that was excessive, even gratuitous, things I coveted for their aesthetic merit, or because they were gifts from friends. Were it not for the Pandemic, I would have probably shipped everything I owned to my home in Goa. But because there were no transport services available then that didn’t cost an arm and a limb, I was compelled to let go; give things away, sell what I could, offer them to friends, scatter everything across different parts of the city, allowing them to have a second lease of life. 

How and when this apartment into which we will move became available to us feels mystical in terms of its timing, like it was ordained that we should inhabit it. Because I am the kind of person who likes to visualise the future as a way of coping with anxiety, I already have had some visions of what our lives will be like in this new setting. I see us between homes. I see us nurturing both spaces, especially when my in-laws travel. I see a space for us collaborating to take care of each other. But I also see an opportunity for me to host friends and family more eagerly and with greater agency. I love knowing I can soon offer a place to stay for friends who might be passing by, or visiting Italy. I am excited about the prospect of my niblings coming to spend time with us. I fantasise about my sister parking herself here for as long as her visa may allow. I won’t lie, what I’m most thrilled about is being the mistress of my own kitchen; queen of my hearth. I’ve spent many nights imagining what it will be like to be hostess again. I’ve even evolved several house-warming menus, as I imagine having friends over in batches. The possibilities are more exciting, because for the first time I’ll be living in a situation where the living room and the kitchen are connected. I’m eager to experience what such a simple erasure of border might entail. 

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx

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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper

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