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May–June 2023 · Christian Ives Solis
RECORD XIII — objects and closure
We moved with only what we had on us, and the flat was left light for one simple reason: there was no accumulation. We did not bring old objects that would act as involuntary memorials to wear and tear. The new space did not come with history stuck to the walls.
The kitchen was operational from the first day. I needed that territory to be stable: my knives, a solid cutting board, real space to move my body without tightening my shoulders. For me, the kitchen is not just a place of work; it functions as the metronome of the house. If everything there fits and keeps a good rhythm, the rest of coexistence lowers its volume.
But the turquoise pot did not come.
I left it in the other house. And it was not something forgotten in the chaos of boxes; it was a clean decision. Let them keep the trophy, I thought while packing. I needed a bigger one. Leaving it behind was a physical limit, a technical closure. Sometimes cutting a bond does not require one last big fight; it is enough to let go of an object that carries the exact weight of the history you are no longer willing to keep carrying.
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The new keys locked differently. Not because the lock was better, but because they did not come with a story attached. There was no need to explain why you were coming in, or at what hour, or with whose permission. You entered, and that was that.
But then the real challenge appeared: learning how to exist with someone else inside the same space without turning the home into a rescue operation.
The house offered a reprieve, but my body entered maintenance mode.
My left ear had already been failing for some time, but the outcome activated itself through procedure. I went to the clinic because of pain in my thigh and walked out with a construction plan for my head. Sitting in front of the doctor, I said it plainly:
—I'm missing an ear.