Last week we had a realtor coming over.
Before that, Jasper and I placed a bet.
I thought he was going to lose money over the house.
He thought it might have the same value.
Mr. Realtor was more optimistic.
“If you don’t place the house for EUR xx.xxx more than the buying price, you seriously are crazy”, he laughed, “if you just freshen it up with some painting, probably even more”.
Who would have thought.
Certainly not me.
I didn’t like or appreciated this house.
Nothing of it.
What’s there to like with a bedroom so small I have to jump over Jasper to get to the toilet?
About cracks in the wall?
And about windows that we opened 1 month ago and can now not be closed?
Jasper was less worried about these issues.
He bought the house 11 years ago.
Placed some personal things, like this wonderful painting (which I always found questionable, but learned to love it over time).
2.5 years ago, I moved in.
Other than clothes, I didn’t have any personal belongings.
I wanted to make a new start with new memories.
And so we did.
We decorated the house with pictures of vacations, souvenirs and candles.
Though I still didn’t like many elements, the memories made the house look more like a home.
We took the realtor’s advice.
We bought tools and started painting over the ugly yellow walls.
First the kitchen, were we experimented with many recipes.
The bathroom, where I spend many relaxing moments reading blogs in the bathtub.
The bedroom, where I knew there was always someone to comfort me after a nightmare.
The living room, where we spend evenings sitting quietly sitting next to each other doing our own thing, but feeling utterly happy.
The memories are fading with every streak of white paint or belongings we put in boxes.
Slowly this home is turning into a house again.