This August I moved into my own apartment: a studio on the 28th floor of a building in Brickell, just a 10-minute walk from school.
This studio has become my little slice of paradise: it’s spacious and bright, with a surprising amount of storage and a big west-facing balcony that gives me a view of the sunset every evening.
I’ve never lived on my own before now. Never been able to just do whatever I want, whenever I want, because it’s all mine. But now, I can.
I put every piece of this place together myself. My mom helped stay over for furniture deliveries on moving day, while I drove back and forth from Ikea to a teacher couple’s to pick up some chairs and a dresser and to my old place to get all the last things, sweating profusely and forgetting to eat. Gianna helped me put together my bed frame and design and hang the gallery wall.
Everything is exactly where and how I want it to be. And when I come home to my apartment at the end of a long day, I look at it with pride and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a reminder to me that endings make room for new beginnings. That I can do just about anything on my own, with a little help from my community.
Writing With Abandon 
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