Its been a year since I moved to New York City. I moved in with my best friend, Leo, who graciously accommodated me in his super tiny apartment in the upper west side. When i say "tiny," i really mean it. Its like a size of a small room which is good for only one person. But since i didnt really have a choice, we were able to stand living together for a month and a half. Leo went to Europe and I stayed there for the next 10 months. Leo is back and we decided to get a two bedroom apartment. We were thinking if we survived living together in that uber tiny place, I guess we could endure each other if we have our own rooms. It was a rigorous 3-week apartment hunting. From long subway rides, scary neighborhoods, run down apartments, to cold and wet weather, Leo and I went through all those to finally find Apartment 403 in the Upper Upper West Side otherwise known as Harlem.
We've spent the past 2 weeks moving our stuff, buying furniture, spending 7 hours in Ikea, maxing out credit cards, unpacking and cleaning the new place from top to bottom. Its slowly becoming the "home" we envisioned it to be. Even now, it feels good to be there. Its the closest I can get to having a place I call home.
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