For a few years now I have wanted to live in a tiny house on wheels; a mobile, ecological, minimalist grandmas cottage. Big windows, wooden floors, natural and warm yet bright surfaces,with pops of color (sunflower yellow kitchen cabinets, turquoise tiles or a single tea-pot) and Moroccan and Scottish throws and pillows. A spacious bedroom loft with a window in the ceiling, a small and not too heavy fireplace to keep the house warm during the winter (or just to boil tea and that cozy factor), a tiny wooden sauna room at the back with an inbuilt shower and half of a giant whisky barrel which could serve both as a sauna seat and bath tub. Storage space under the stairs (my goal is to have as little "stuff" as possible), a dinner table that comes up from the floor when needed, a couch/storage by the window. Wheels underneath to get to new exciting locations when needed (for work, other responsibilities or due to climate change), a few wooden fold box...
Calling my bank back home in another European country to pass through SEPA payment for my public transport card here in the new but also safe and functional country where I despite the ever whispering inflation and grey employment market have managed to get some dream career related volunteership. This life is unpaid- but I have my "trustfund" (my own savings I worked for), a set of modern tools for any western situation and free libraries/workspaces for writing and life admin, free hostel leftover food and a keep-cup to sip my morning coffee from as a stroll around the city canals, its artwork and flowers. This life is safe. Be grateful for that. I try to numb myself for sanity and focus on that, as the bombs go off in other lands, as children are crying over the bodies of their loved ones, cradeling themselves with the last two limbs they have left, I try, for my own sanity, to turn off the images, focus on my coffee flavoured ice-cream from the small family busines...