The first hand written post in my new leather bound journal. This journal was given to me (ironically) by my vegetarian boyfriend. I must issue a firm thank you to Americano as this notebook is entirely made out of a dead cow….every vegetarians dream.
Sitting in my familiar spot on the red couch, I am all dressed up with no where to go. As spectators of the Pan Am games leave the distillery over populated, I soak up my final few days spent in this apartment. That is right…My time in the distillery district is coming to a quick end.
In as little as three weeks I will be finding my own way apart from my two current roommates. With my off days being filled with condo visitations, I make last minute searches in an attempt to find a place to call home. Sans roommates, deprived of space, and lacking a new apartment, Americano and I (regretfully) leave the Distillery.
As I look at places, the overwhelming stench of spent money fills my nostrils. Spending money on food and housing always seems difficult to me…as Carrie once said “ sometimes I would buy Vogue instead of dinner. I felt it fed me more”. Apartments (or should I say shoeboxes), cost an average of $1,500 for a suitable living environment. As the housing market rises, I find myself questioning my financial decisions, for without the help of two roommates, I can no longer afford the 700 square foot apartment over looking the distillery!
As young adults moving alone into a big city, it seems as if we are all just children acting tough yet waiting for the moment to break down and cry. We find ourselves so caught up in finances, we truly forget what life is all about, living. While I am sure that we all have our own interpretation for the recipe of what makes the perfect life, I have been feeling that maybe there is more to life than (dare I say it?) designer clothing and overpriced coffee.
As I walked home today from work, I found myself drenched by the pouring rain. Standing helpless (and umbrellaless), I did what any resourceful young Torontonian would do: I risked hepatitis, took of my shoes and walked bare foot down the dirty Toronto street. I am not sure if it was the rain or just me moving onto a new chapter of my life, but I felt (despite the bare feet) clean.
I once heard someone say that we are all made up by the decisions that we have made in the past; We are moulded by what others have said to us.
While it is true that we cannot forget the past, we cannot let the past shape our future.
As the water droplets fall from my hair onto my nose, I walk down the busy street. Separated from those around me, I am fathomed by just how lonely one can feel in a crowded space.
The only way to describe this sense of isolation, is to quote Jordan Baker from the Fitzgerald classic The Great Gatsby, “I love big parties, they’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.”
Maybe it is this step I am taking, or maybe it is the idea that I no longer have two important women in my life, but I have begun thinking existentially.
Looking up into the grey sky I say silently, “What the fuck do I do now”.