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Neighbours
Aug. 30th, 2021 08:18 pmThere's a woman who lives opposite me, our blocks of flats facing each other across a courtyard, whose living room I admire greatly. She lives alone, and rarely shuts her curtains, so her home becomes a dollhouse of warm golden light in the evenings. It's neat, well-laid out, in bright colours and restrained style, clearly the unified aesthetic choices of someone pleasing herself first and foremost. She has friends over sometimes, and takes them out onto the balcony for breakfast or drinks or dinner. She grows a few plants there, but mostly puts the emphasis on cosy furniture and blankets.She reminds me of friends of mine, women who live alone, and what I admire in them. One of the great advantages of being over 30 is that you and most of the people you know, know themselves, their priorities, their preferences, what they cannot live without and what they simply do not care about (and are tired of pretending they do). To say that my friends are strong is a cliche. I admire their selfdetermination.
Above her live the Naked Neighbours, a young couple who keep their curtains closed almost all of the time but sometimes step out onto the balcony naked to fetch something, looking shifty and awkward. They also held parties during the pandemic, so fuck 'em. Above them live the People With The Beautiful Garden, where the roof bends to allow a tiny sheltered courtyard, painted blistering white and softened with planters and trellises and windowboxes full of greenery. There are strings of soft solar lanterns and a barbeque. They tend their garden and have quiet family dinners when their grown children visit. This tiny rooftop garden was one of the first things I noticed when moving in, in the frozen dull muddy grey before Spring, and my hopes that the space was appreciated were richly rewarded. Below the Independant Woman lives the Best Dog In The World. I know nothing of the people, but this dog is a long-haired, short-legged Collie, a rectangle of silky fluff with a nose on the end. It is very stupid and very adoring and cannot quite jump high enough to get back in through the window it jumped out of, so has to beg the humans to come outside and open the courtyard door. It sometimes stares and sniffs at dogs and cats that pass on the street nearby. It is perfect.
I never lived alone. I lived with housemates, and then with partners. I sometimes get the house to myself for stretches of up to a week when our travel schedules don't line up, and I honestly contributed far more to our decorating choices, having stronger opinions and more knickknacks, but it's not the same as living alone. I sometimes wish I had. The theoretical ideal situation would be the famous setup of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, except that I love waking up together, bustling aorund together, taking care of chores for each other, the little incidental moments that make a life, make a relationship. However, when friends who live alone talk about the peace of knowing that everything in your house was put there by you, every aesthetic choice and dirty dish is yours alone, generated by you and your responsibility, I long for that. It's not that my partner is messy at all! It's just that we've been in small houses together for years now, and with the pandemic came constant togetherness. It made us closer, clarified some things we want out of our life, led to a deepening of an already deep understanding of one another, and also we're both humans who need space and privacy sometimes.
Above her live the Naked Neighbours, a young couple who keep their curtains closed almost all of the time but sometimes step out onto the balcony naked to fetch something, looking shifty and awkward. They also held parties during the pandemic, so fuck 'em. Above them live the People With The Beautiful Garden, where the roof bends to allow a tiny sheltered courtyard, painted blistering white and softened with planters and trellises and windowboxes full of greenery. There are strings of soft solar lanterns and a barbeque. They tend their garden and have quiet family dinners when their grown children visit. This tiny rooftop garden was one of the first things I noticed when moving in, in the frozen dull muddy grey before Spring, and my hopes that the space was appreciated were richly rewarded. Below the Independant Woman lives the Best Dog In The World. I know nothing of the people, but this dog is a long-haired, short-legged Collie, a rectangle of silky fluff with a nose on the end. It is very stupid and very adoring and cannot quite jump high enough to get back in through the window it jumped out of, so has to beg the humans to come outside and open the courtyard door. It sometimes stares and sniffs at dogs and cats that pass on the street nearby. It is perfect.
I never lived alone. I lived with housemates, and then with partners. I sometimes get the house to myself for stretches of up to a week when our travel schedules don't line up, and I honestly contributed far more to our decorating choices, having stronger opinions and more knickknacks, but it's not the same as living alone. I sometimes wish I had. The theoretical ideal situation would be the famous setup of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, except that I love waking up together, bustling aorund together, taking care of chores for each other, the little incidental moments that make a life, make a relationship. However, when friends who live alone talk about the peace of knowing that everything in your house was put there by you, every aesthetic choice and dirty dish is yours alone, generated by you and your responsibility, I long for that. It's not that my partner is messy at all! It's just that we've been in small houses together for years now, and with the pandemic came constant togetherness. It made us closer, clarified some things we want out of our life, led to a deepening of an already deep understanding of one another, and also we're both humans who need space and privacy sometimes.
