Sunday, 21 August 2016

A space of one's own



Although there's an intrinsic impermanence associated with every physical space we inhabit – our own bodies being the only true “home” we reside in for our life’s entirety – the act of creating a soul soothing space we repeatedly return to is, to me, an immeasurable kinda pleasure. It's palpable, visceral; a place of solace and respite, imbued with everyday rituals and one-off memories. 




At its core, a sense of home isn’t material in nature: it’s a feeling. And however small, big, or (im)permanent your current physical space may be, it’s in your power to make that feeling a good one. Of course, only you can define this – it's a sensation entirely idiosyncratic; unique to you. 




Whether it was my first little Berlin flat two years ago, the uni room I settled in last year, or the more longterm Berlin apartment in which I currently reside, one thread has remained consistent: each and every space has encompassed a pot-pourri of elements that characterise and reflect me, in all my eccentricities. 





Life’s an uncertain little thing. There’s so much we encounter in our daily lives – people, scenarios, energies – that are entirely out of our control (and can occasionally have an undesirable impact on our internal state). This is where your sacred space swoops in and saves the day, quite often in a very literal sense: it restores your baseline, your default setting. It’s a place to reset, recharge and be entirely yourself. 




This is why solo living is the ideal scenario for an introverted soul like me. Since I’m able to immediately ground myself upon each return, my little one person apartment is a fundamental that lays the foundations for my character outside the private sphere – that is, it reinstates my energy, wellbeing and the inner contentedness I seek to maintain, equipping me for the more uncontrollable elements of the public sphere. 



Home means something different to everyone, and even your own definition will ebb and flow over time. The household accompaniments we value, and material space we inhabit may indeed change, but one trait will remain constant: that warm feeling of return is something you simply can’t put a price on.