I’m moving, yet I can’t.
A little while ago, I received a notification from my apartment building asking me to “state my intentions,” wanting to know whether I was gonna resign my lease or not. I sat on my bed and stared at that piece of paper for a long time. This is it, isn’t it? A new chapter to my life.
For 2 and a half years, I called my tiny studio on the UWS my home. It’s centrally located between the most wealthy part of the UWS (Columbus Circle, Lincoln Center) and the poorest (Amsterdam housing). To me, it was home, the longest I’ve stayed at any apartment since college, my sanctuary.
In those 2-1/2 years, very few people came to visit, just a girlfriend who spent the evening watching TV and eating take-out, another that came for a bathroom break before heading out to another bar, and a third who spent the night when visiting New York, but never actually slept since we talked til morning.
I never had any guys over. That was a policy. This was my santuary, the place where I go to cry/sleep-it-off if any guy was acting like a jerk, where I go when I’m sick and need peace and quiet, where I go when I want to get away from all the crap New York and life may throw my way. It protected me, and though small and oftentimes messy, it was cozy and it was all mine.
Boyfriend is the first and only guy who I broke that policy for, but not til after dating for a long time and I knew he was not a casual fling. For BF, I think it was a sanctuary too. When we were there, it was like we were in our own little world, away from the drama of everyday life. We were on top of each other cause space was so limited, but it was almost like we were 2 newly-weds in our first apartment.
I knew that notice was coming, and I had known what my answer would be when it did come. I just didn’t know it’d be so hard to let go.
Well, I stated my intentions. Goodbye UWS, goodbye dear studio. I’m about to start my new life.