I was 4 years old when we moved into the first and only home I ever had. Truthfully, there had been many buildings and houses and various places that we had lived in in my first 4 years of life, moving from place to place either to outrun my father or to find cheaper rent – but I remember nothing of those places. In fact my earliest memory is the very first day we moved into that house.

According to my siblings, it was by far the nicest place we had ever lived in. By virtue of public housing my mother had been able to secure this 4 bedroom, semi-detached house in a fairly good area of town. We had a big back yard and a basement to run around in, and my two older siblings were able to get their own rooms (I had to share with my other sister until the first of my siblings went away to school ~ or when my brother decided to make his room in the basement, whichever came first. It’s hard to recall.

I lived in that house until I was 19 and went away to school. Not long after my mother moved into a small one-bedroom apartment in another city, and I often felt like I never really had a home base after that. There’s something about going “home” for a visit and having to sleep on the couch that fails to give one that warm and fuzzy feeling.

Upon moving to Ottawa I have moved almost every year. The longest I’ve ever lived in one place is around a year and a half. The first was my residence room, where I was lucky to have the rare privilege of having a single room in first year. And thank god for that. Secret and silly and innocent first girl kisses happened in that room and I can’t imagine where I’d be if I hadn’t had the privacy I needed to come out and be with my first girlfriend. It was on that very residence floor that I met two of my dearest friends – Olga and Matt.

After residence and that first torturous summer back home, two friends and I moved into this absolutely fabulous apartment in on Kent St. Looking at it now from a wiser, more rental set-up experienced point of view, we were the luckiest university students ever. This was a luxury apartment with all the amenities, the like of which I wouldn’t see again until very recently.

After my two friends left Ottawa and moved back home, I was left in a city very much alone (or so it felt at the time). My next apartment was an over-priced, cubicle sized, “bachelor” apartment in the student ghetto. I rented it because I was desperate and unsure of my future finances, and it was the cheapest, least scary, place I could find. And while it wasn’t my favourite place to live – this was the apartment I was in when I first met my girlfriend; this was the apartment I first had sex in. You tend to remember those things.

I left that apartment as soon as I possibly could. I was offered a job and a real salary, and as soon as my lease was up I moved in with one my friends into a “two bedroom” (one was actually the living room, redesigned with doors so you could shut everyone out) back over the river. Not much can really be said about this period. It was a nice place, a stable period of life, etc. Oh, well, the landlord never salted the bloody driveway, and sucked at fixing things, but other wise – great.

Once our lease was up, my friend and I were both making enough money to be on our own, (I’m sure my slobbiness was a factor, lol), and the landlords casual attitude about repairs was pissing us off, so we parted ways – still friends! I moved into a nice, but small one bedroom downtown. It was my first real, alone, grown-up apartment. I would have stayed there had a better deal not come up.

That better deal is where I now am. I won’t go into too much detail, but my current place, another 1 bedroom, is the nicest, cheapest place I’ve been in yet. It is also the furthest away – but you win some, you lose some.

The Kent St. apartment is probably my most favourite of all the places I’ve ever lived. Not because of aforementioned amenities, but because it was where I truly started to live. It was where those friendships formed in residence solidified, where I dealt with my ex-girlfriend and my feelings for her, this is where I experienced the passion, enthusiasm and strength of youth. Everything here was brightly coloured and loud. I still miss that time period – and this apartment represented that.

I look forward to the places I’ll live in the future, and the imprints I’ll leave on them, and they on me. But I hope I never forget where I’ve been.

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