the house by the sea

the beach

When people ask me where I see myself in ten years, I tell them I’d be living by myself in a big spacious house by the sea, not because I want to, but because it’s just the way things are. I’ll make sure that the windows stretch all the way to the ceiling and that the walls are coloured white, so over time, the house will continue to grow, to stretch, to make room for nothing. And it doesn’t matter if I feel suffocated by how empty the hallways feel, I’ll learn to get used to it. I know I will.

In the morning, I’ll sit by the dining table and set the table for two, but I’ll be careful to put only one serving of cooking so I won’t have any leftovers. I’ll polish the cutlery to the sound of the ocean, telling myself that if I do them all tonight I won’t have to clean them tomorrow. I’ll talk to the waves crashing by the sea and hear my own voice echo down the stairs but that’s more than enough for me. And when the sun sets, I’ll crawl into my bed and sleep on the right side, close to the curtains. I can see myself ignoring how cold the other side is starting to grow, knowing that if I stretch my hand out across the blankets, it won’t make a difference.

The days would mostly look like this, and I know they’ll melt and blur into one seemingly endless movie. People usually ask me if that would make me happy. I would laugh and tell them no. I don’t think so. But one way or another, I’ll be alone. So it’s better to choose how I’d like to do it. And I’d want to do it in a house that’s too big for me. So at least when I feel lonely, I can blame it on the empty space.

A.Z, the house by the sea, an excerpt from my journal