A life for one

Moving from Mexico to Europe

Twelve days ago I didn’t live alone. I was resting back at home with six other people and enough chilling spots. But much has changed since my egress.

Now I phone people, which is strange. ‘Cause no Gen Z likes it better than just simple text. But at times, when I grow tired of my own voice, I find calling people to be the next best choice. So that might be the reason for it all, or perhaps my role plays are not as interesting as I once thought.

The first time I moved out, it was only for a few months. Still, it was enough taste to understand some basic stuff about what it is to live alone. However, I will admit that I wasn’t entirely free from company. But my leave was during the longest “quarantine” of almost half a year. And because my roommates used to rise past noon, it became less of a commune and more of a solo tune.

Back then I lived in Holland, now I live in Estonia. Both are cold, expensive, but small and plain. So commuting has become an even more trivial thing to do. Their cities are so small that I could cross them just by walking. Enough it is to say that the time it takes to circle them on public transport, equals to the average traffic dose every tapatío deals with on an everyday commute.

Before I use to think about food. Now I think about prices, and then, food.

You may ask me how much salmon is a dine out, and I’ll know. ’Cause that’s the way a foreign student measures any purchase done. At first it’s all about currencies and price points, but then it becomes too hard to keep up because comparing lifestyles across the globe doesn’t give you the right approach to grasp the value of your stuff.

I can embrace the cold weather, the devious rain and the strong winds; but I’ll never get used to how, both in Holland and Estonia, buying lime is more of luxury rather than an average commodity. And how the only spicy things are mostly Indian, Thai or Japanese.

Have you ever lived alone or thought of doing so? If you have, you’ve probably noticed that there’s barely any places thought to host a single soul. When it’s just you, prices elevate for a relatively poor domain. Isn’t it strange how adding another suddenly makes the market less unfair? Why is it that in order to get more quality you ought to compromise your privacy?

I wonder who will target the emerging personalities that don’t exactly own financial immortality nor are members of any intimate formal party, but still seek stylish rooms and ministrations for no more than what they earn. Because, what are rock and mountains to good design and fair prices?

Regardless of it all, this life for one has many things I love. Most are as mundane as cooking for myself. Others, like the silence through the day, are a treat for the mind or nudge for the body to go out and play. Nevertheless, I’m aware these perks don’t come without some weight.

Back at home the cleaning was paid for, my mom would be the cook and my dad would do the shop. And now, at my place, there’s just me to do them all. But that’s the pleasure of it all. Despite the needed work, it is I who calls the shots. There’s great power to be hold, so I’ve been working on my thoughts and ordering my stuff to prevent future falls.

The life for one is all about exploring and trying out the different choices. There’s no perfect one for us all, but perhaps I’ll get some luck and find my perfect sort. I’ll keep an eye on what life holds in stock, and then I’ll know if it’s really worth a lime or not.