I close the door, leaving the world outside. I lock the noise away. I’m finally home.
I turn on the lights and let myself be comforted by this space, built over the years. I am not waiting for anyone. What a joy. All I hear are my own thoughts and, in the distance, the city slowly settling down as well.
My story is still scattered across the apartment floor. Frames leaning against the walls and boxes filled with memories occupy the space. An oil lamp. A photograph of my great-grandparents. I feel both inspired and melancholic as I look at this past life. Part of it spent nearly ten years stored away in cellars, through moves, travels abroad, and shared apartments. It waited patiently for a place where it could finally be revealed.
I take my time. My own.
And how I love these mornings when I sit on my sofa, coffee in hand, looking out over the city and the Uetliberg mountain. I think back to the first time I arrived at Zurich’s main station in the early 2010s. I remember the feeling of discovering this city for the very first time, already knowing that one day it would be home.
Not everything has found its place yet. Some frames are still leaning against the walls.
I find myself somewhere between these memories of the past and the satisfaction of finally having a place to return to.
Philippe