From My Borrowed Window
Published in Sonder, Issue 1 | 2021
From My Borrowed Window is a text I wrote for Sonder, a publication by Carolina Semprucci. Sonder is the profound feeling of realising that everyone, including strangers passing in the street, has a life as complex as one's own, which they are constantly living despite one's personal lack of awareness of it. To respond to this concept, I reflected upon the feeling of renting in London, and never feeling particularly attached to any place. Even though the feeling of constant instability permeated everyday life, there was still a beauty in witnessing and being around the mundane routines of my friends, who temporarily also held the identity of being a flatmate for the year. It is a recognition and gratitude of living in this in-between moment, and how things can simultaneously feel like they will stay the same everyday yet will come to an end at an indefinite time.
From My Borrowed Window
one must make the first - perhaps obvious - distinction that flat sharing is exponentially different to living with family. for many, it accompanies the odd mix of excitement and dread of stepping out into the world.
it is a fundamentally new space, a rite of passage, a semi-cocoon for softening the blow of the complex mechanisms in borrowing a space - to routinely breathe in for a set amount of time.
at a naive 18, I lived in London for the first time. I opted for the student dorm, right next to the campus, and requested for a roommate from the fear of being friendless. and it was difficult, navigating the dorm space, the choreographed social events where biscuits were laid out in an expected fashion. voices clambered over me, strong weed smells shot up to our room. perhaps it was culture shock. but I am used to it now. I no longer need to press my ear against the door at weird times to listen for anyone in the kitchen so I can make the fastest meal possible, in and out. I locked myself in this, cage. absolutely rigid, mute, irrational. I do not need to do this anymore.
I do not need to do this anymore because thankfully, I made friends that I moved in with the next year. I thank the first roommate for just being there.
from then on, I had flat-shared with various friends, switching every year. I think back and get a warm feeling. I can hear our echoing laughs as we looked up through our tiny window placed at a peculiar angle on the ceiling. how did we end up here? there is something curious about looking at distant twinkling lights from a borrowed window, with friends you know you won’t live with forever. these stars will outlive us, and watch as we navigate our half-shared spaces. the kitchen, the toilet, the living room, all of this is yours, but also mine. you move through these interweaving spaces, shifting your weight in the corridors to pass each other, as if performing a strange dance, holding familiar plates and mugs. a wonderful routine.
a glimpse into the others’ room is enough to tell how they are doing. you respect their personal space, and they respect yours. not everyone is able to do this. certain people open your eyes to the value of your own space. you have the right to end supposed friendships if you feel the need to. I learnt this the hard way. but still, I am thankful for the life lesson. I wish them well. I wish them the best. I thank them for their time.
mostly, I think to the times when you and I looked out the living room windows, listening to conversations that weren’t ours. I feel we were facing the world together. it is a particular kind of unity, one that is temporary but unbreakable. perhaps all of this is to, deep down, delay the inevitable of living alone. I laugh it off. I cherish the present moment instead.
I bask in this beautiful, shared, time with friends, knowing it will always only just be, an in-between.