Does everybody who
has a small house have a great life?
Does everybody who
has a big house have a small life?
These are just
questions with all kinds of answers. These questions are a way to start my blog
today about my tiny house, the story of the relationship with my home, my walls,
and my neighbors. But this relationship
can’t be described without telling you about my home in Peru.
My house in Peru
is literally on a park and 100 steps away from the beach. You don’t have to
cross a street to enjoy the sea. The house is made of cement. The whole
building has 3 stories. The first one is independent from the other two in that
on the first floor is another family (my aunt, my uncle and cousins). I was
extremely close to them. I hung out with my cousins there, and it was like
having a second home where love, laughs and food happened. The other two
stories is where I lived and was loved until I moved to Colorado.
Those two stories
were my home for many years. You can have really 5 bedrooms. There are 2 and a
half bathrooms and a roof where you could see the beach in its fullest. My
favorite place there was the living room. The living room was the most spotless
place at home with wood floors that you could see yourself in because they were
so shiny. There were many couches to sit and enjoy the view of the park. That
part of the home I would say for me was the most peaceful, where we had flower
pots and a huge mirror that gave the character to my home.
My second favorite
place was the dining room. That place was noisy, a place of company. I was
never alone there. My grandma was always present, and if she was not there was
my mom, my aunt, or the lady who helped us. And even when I was alone, the TV
was there. The dining table was big and strong; it was the place where we would
gather on a Sunday with the family.
My house in Peru
was big enough, where if you wanted to find privacy you definitely could. Where
you could not hear your neighbors because of the thick walls.
My house now in
Colorado has 2 stories and a basement. It is made of wood and has 2 bedrooms, 1
and a half bathrooms, and in the basement there are 2 areas we use as the
office and laundry room. We only have 4 windows, and the main view is the
parking lot.
When I just moved to
this house, I did not have neighbors. Years passed, and all kinds of people
moved next to us. With some I became friends and others I did not. I heard
everything. I knew when my neighbors were taking showers, when they were
flushing the toilet; I knew their struggles, their fights and also when they
made up (if you know what I mean). With some of them, we shared tears and
laughs.
Years ago I
complained about my tiny home. I was tired of other people. I missed my big
home in Peru that did not just have my family but also more family in the first
floor. I was never alone. On the contrary, I used to feel alone here. My
neighbors barely ever said hi, and once I gave a welcome card to one of them
and he just came to me and told me that he was not a social person. Well that
was it. I became that neighbor, the American neighbor who likes independence
and respects privacy.
When I used to
complain, I kept looking for new houses, and I just saw everything wrong with
my place. And then I woke up; I made the choice to stop being the victim. I
chose to be grateful. I chose to transform. I chose to see the cup half full
instead of half empty. That started years ago. And a big shift came after that.
At some point I
had to choose. Do I move and get a job so I can pay the big typical American
white picket fence? Or do I stay here? Would it make sense for me to just work
the normal 9 to 5 job in order not to enjoy my big house? Well, I don’t like
doing things that my TrueSelf does not agree. So, my husband and I decided to
live in our tiny home, AKA the mansion for some of our friends.
Paying a mortgage
under 600 bucks a month, we chose to travel and make those kinds of memories
instead of buying a bigger house. Do I regret it? Not really. I prefer to do
what I love. But don’t take me wrong, I have my days when I am tired of my old
home. But lately I have decided to see if we can make some cute improvements
inside and feel more comfortable.
As lonely as I
felt at the beginning here, I have learned that all experiences are great. I
pretend in my head that I have a huge house and a big family. I can hear
everybody, and I think they are part of the gang. I have learned to live with
them, my neighbors. Some are moving because the value of our homes are so high;
others are just arriving to my block. And there it is, us waiting to see where
life takes us. We might move, we might not.
But now I feel at
home. My big tiny place, full of noise, not necessarily from us. A couple of
times my neighbor hears me eating breakfast in my patio and brings over bacon
to me; that makes my day! We are the neighbors that share WiFi, and help each
other out. That take care of pets and plants and on occasion have been there for
emergencies.
This is my home
now, very different from what I was used to. When I had a big house, my life
was not as fulfilled. Now my house is tiny, and I take advantage of life to the
fullest. Am I setting my priorities wrong? Who knows? Do I judge people who
prefer a big house? No way. Be sure that if I get a large
sum of money, I will be getting my big house and the big life too. But for now,
I enjoy what I have, a great life.
Be content
Me
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