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We don’t live here anymore

January 14, 2011

In the last days of December ’10 we moved out of our apartment. It held a particularly intense amount of memories and relics, awful and wonderful, and while I know change is good, it’s still bizarre that the floors we fought on and danced on and relied on and went home to so many times aren’t our floors anymore. Same for the walls, the windows, the weird neighbors, etc.

It wasn’t the most glamorous interior, but it was ours: super creative, plastered in inspiration, exploding with treasures from our adventures. One thing is for sure: we lived the heck out of this place. If walls could talk, the next people who move in would probably think we’re completely insane (but I bet they’d want to hang with us!).

Our new place is a beautiful railroad apartment in Greenpoint Brooklyn, where my mother and Grandmother grew up. It has an old arch alcove sink and mint green walls in the kitchen, real tiles on the floor, a painted fireplace… basically, everything I could want. Photos of our new space are on the way, after the circus of moving-in wraps up.

I updated my Refinery29 contributions archive! Check it out.

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