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No longer my place

As of around 11:45 AM yesterday, my unit is officially no longer mine.

I’m still in shock about how fast it all happened. Feels like I’d just sent a casual enquiry about how much my unit might potentially sell for if I put it on the market. I remember meeting with the real estate agent for the first time. He told me he could get photography early in the next week, the listing up on Thursday, and the first open home the Saturday after that.

I remember balking, overwhelmed at the prospect of putting my home up for sale so quickly. He said I could take my time, we didn’t have to move that fast. I said I’d think about it. But a few days, later I emailed him to go with his timeline of moving quickly.

He confidently stated he could sell it within 4-6 weeks.

It sold after the first open home.

Now the contract has been completed. We left the premises last Sunday. As of yesterday the new keys are in the buyer’s hands. It’s her home, now.

I wanted to have a proper moment before moving out. But things became hectic in the weeks leading up to the move. I kept saying that surely it’d be easy to move. After all, we were only in a 1 bedder. How wrong I was! (That being said, it’s a spacious 1 bedder at 90 sqm with plenty of storage space). It was insane how much stuff we had squirrelled away… S would cart off carloads, vanloads or a truckload of stuff and there would still be heaps of things left to be boxed and moved.

Our last official day there was anticlimactic. S had to work after moving a vanload early in the morning, so it was up to me and his parents to do the last bits of packing, moving and cleaning.

There was a bit left to do after that day, so I drove back to the unit, for the last time, early on Monday morning. I was by myself. I only had the mopping left, but it took over an hour to carry all of the remaining items to the car. Cleaning materials, the balcony hose, the BBQ cover that had been left behind, the Vornado, the last mug I had left so I could keep drinking from it.

I video-called my parents when I was about to leave, showing them the empty rooms.

I met with the real estate agent to hand over the keys 10 minutes before the buyer had her final inspection. I played with the thought of being there during the inspection. I was curious to see who had purchased my place. Was she like me when I was buying it 7 years ago, a young single woman moving out to live on her own for the first time? I wanted to gush about how I loved about living there and how I was sure she’d be happy, too.

I still remember my final inspection, come to think of it. The property was rented by a couple then. The guy was home during the inspection. As I scuttled around with my measuring tape, checking taps and flicking on lights on and off, I remember him saying: “You’ll be happy here.”

Yes, I was happy there. Seven years of my life, happiness and sadness and everything in between. I feel a little sad of course, but mostly happy. This was a good move. Onto the next chapter.

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