For one reason or another, my current place had stopped being somewhere I could continue living. That meant finding another rental and moving all over again.
Every move turns up a large pile of things that are both familiar and strangely unknown. Some of them have not been touched once since the previous move. They have taken up storage space, added to the cost and effort of transporting everything, and contributed absolutely nothing. The more depressing part is knowing that some of the same things may still be waiting for me at the next move.
Moving is undeniably troublesome. At the same time, it offers a chance to change the surroundings and, at least to some extent, begin a different kind of life.
I have mentioned a little about him and me before. This time, my biggest hope for the new place was that we could finally live together. So we paid particular attention to rentals around what might be called a “Lagrange point”—somewhere between our two workplaces.
The problem was that our workplaces are in suburban areas on opposite sides of the city, one to the east and the other to the west. If we split the journey evenly, we would have to rent somewhere close to the city center, and the price would be too high.
His commute is mostly by subway, which means there is little risk of traffic jams or unpredictable waiting. I rely mainly on buses. After comparing locations, rent and travel times again and again, we eventually chose a place located roughly one-third of the way along the combined commuting routes—one part of the distance for me, two parts for him.
We found an agent through an online rental platform, viewed several apartments, spent a day or two going back and forth, and finally made a decision. Then we moved in.
It is a one-bedroom apartment in an old residential compound, with a kitchen, bathroom and balcony. There is no elevator, and it is on the fifth floor. The decoration is basic. On the bedroom door, there is even a New Year decoration from 2013—yes, eleven years old.
When that decoration was put up, rent in a place like this must have been considerably cheaper. Since then, a subway line has opened nearby and several large shopping malls have been built. The rent has gone up by a full third. Once estimated utilities are added, the monthly cost takes up almost a third of my income.
In a way, that seems fair. I spend roughly a third of each day at home, after all.
Compared with where I lived before, this place is much more convenient. Previously, going to the movies required some planning: which showing to choose, what time it would end, and how to get home afterward. Now we can pick almost any showing we want. When the movie is over, it takes only ten minutes to walk home and go to bed.
I have to admit that life here is already very close to the life I had imagined. I work six days a week, but after work we can eat together, get milk tea, or go to the cinema. If we happen to feel like it, we can cook something together. When we are bored, we can ride our little electric scooter around the neighborhood. Once we get tired, we can simply head home and lie down.
No house, no car, no debt—and no particular ambition. This is how comfortably a person can live.
After all, a third of life has already passed. What is the point of fighting so hard with myself anymore?