Ever since I moved out of my parent’s house, in 2010, I had been living this cycle: I’d change cities, jobs or homes, live in the new place for a couple of years, get restless about my life, move to a new place, rinse and repeat.

It went like this:

As a result, I’ve never lived more than 2 years and 10 months in the same apartment.

Until now.

Since April 2021 I’ve not only been in the same city, but I’ve been living in the same apartment and working in the same company (although I’m changing to a Data Analyst career because you know, something needs to change).

It’s weird to have all my memories from the past 3 years looking the same. I used to remember different events that happened in my life by the place I was living in, and now I’m not certain if something happened in 2022 or 2023 anymore.

Although I still feel restless, for the first time in my life I feel like I’ve found a place to which I can belong and create roots. I love how multicultural Toronto is, and despite all the problems, it’s the best city I’ve lived in so far – a middle ground between the megalopolis of São Paulo and the small city vibes of my hometown.

I also love living in Midtown. In the past years, I’ve dedicated special attention to the small businesses in the area and was able to find a place for every need, from curly hair saloons to Brazilian bakeries. Not to mention all the parks and trails that are in the area.

But more importantly, I’m learning to settle down in my apartment. I always avoided painting the walls or even buying expensive furniture, because I was always in the mindset that I was going to move out someday. But now, even though I know I’m not going to live in this apartment for the rest of my life (more on that in a future post), I decided to make this place as much mine as possible.

My house became more than a home – it became a little oasis of serenity amidst the chaos that my life can be sometimes. I’ve been consistently building each room up, and all the objects have their own story – many of them were found on the streets of Toronto. The plants are also slowly spreading their leaves everywhere and I have a house full of life that I never thought I could have.

In my many moves, I developed this minimalist approach to life, and left many things behind, especially books. Many of the titles that helped me form my personality as a young adult are now – hopefully – on other people’s shelves. While I can’t recover what was voluntarily lost, I’m now rebuilding my personal library with books that are shaping who I am today.

Other than a bookshelf divided by author’s continents, I also created a cozy home office and a reading corner.

Here are some pictures of the progress I’ve made so far.