We Have Our Own Houses But We Still Live Together

I love having my own apartment. All of my things have places and nothing gets moved or dirty or used without me knowing about it and I don’t have to ask permission to change the furniture or paint or get rid of a mug I no longer love. There are no surprise ingredients in the fridge and I’m the responsible one when the garbage gets remembered or forgotten.

I sleep in the middle of my bed, I interrupt no-one with my erratic routines, I can have a bath without asking if anyone needs to pee first and I leave the door open for everything because it’s tiny in there and what is the point in closing it.

I have conflated living alone with having my own space for the last year - with being able to stretch out and know that everything is mine and if it isn’t where it should be I can make it a home. I’ve had great pleasure in inviting my friends and loved ones over for games and dinners and coffee’s and getting ready montages. The height and perhaps most elevated joy of having a home is sharing it with others.

When my partners flat is getting painted for two weeks he can stay with me, there is space for both of us and we have lunch together and make each other coffee - perhaps more than we would have in a day alone. When my friends power went out I had a couch for her to stay on and a closet to raid and a pantry to snack from. When my family is here we have sleepovers and batch meals to put in the freezer and I’m left with weird forgotten items like Gatorade water bottles.

Learning the difference between building a life and building a home has been interesting for me because life is, for me, so intertwined with home. When I first arrived in Montreal one of my first and now dearest friends lived with two other girls in a huge flat on Duluth. It was the central point - everything started and ended there. It was the meeting place. It was the foundation of so many of my valuable connections here and the heart of where I brought everyone who hadn’t touched in on this point yet. I spent birthdays, halloween, new years, and more in the less-than-a-year I was in its walls. Always fed, always laughing, always borrowing something, always a joint to have a puff of, always a place to rest.

Those people moved, away or in with their partners and into their own houses. One of them continued to be the central point. I call them any day and say “what are you doing?” and they are there, at home, ready to greet me and usually a few others who have our own homes but yearn to live together.

I bring brunch supplies or snacks. We make tea and refill waters. A singular puff of weed every couple of hours. Dinner happens at some point. Everyone is working and scrolling and laughing and has their headphones in and is cuddling a different animal. The first day I got a new medication I went there because I was scared to try it alone and ended up napping on her couch. Their partner leaves for work every week, my partner has his own flat… “I didn’t sign up to live alone” she says, and in a way I agree. Although I did, of course, sign up to live alone what I thought I was signing up for was my own space.

I have always wanted to live in community, amongst those I love. I don’t want to share my room or explain why the cup handles go a certain way or clean other peoples hair out of the drain but I want to have dinner with you. I want to say goodnight and have a hug or a kiss or a “sweet dreams” that is not words on a screen. I want to wake up to the sound of other people trying to be quiet. I want to have my own office but hear you typing. I want to make lunch for you even though you said you weren’t hungry but I know you will be once you tune into your body. I don’t even mind if you have to pee while I’m in the bath - you can leave the door open.

Eat my snacks - the ones I was saving. Run out of milk and run to the store in PJ’s in the morning. I’ll feed the squirrels and you’ll find it annoying but still love me. We with both deep clean in totally different ways - you take apart the appliances and I know the tricks to get the stains out of the bathtub. Let me fix the hole in your sweater if you fix the wire for the lights. I’ll stay up and read in the living room because I don’t want to disturb you except for that little bit when I crawl into bed and you are so warm and you wrap yourself around me even though I’m so cold

“I stole one of your oranges” she said when I left with the groceries I brought for brunch. And it’s not stealing if we’re always sharing. I left a mug there months ago but it’s no longer my mug, but my mug at her house. I left all my beads at another friends for months after many sessions of crafting in the park “You can keep them here for as long as you want - they make our shelves look full anyway”. And also “I work from home, you can come work from here anytime”. A friends kitchen is so much better than a cafe. The potluck of “idk what to make but this is what I had in my fridge” is so much more of an adventure when shared. “Can I borrow a sweater?” is always a promise to see you again soon.

I have the bread dish in my oven drawer waiting for me to make something new to return it to you. You have my purple potato salad bowl but honestly I don’t have room for it after the rearrange so it should just stay there. I come over 4 days later and the Nestea I left in your fridge is still there waiting for me. We all have our own houses but we still live together.