transfer of affection

my new flat is only 5 minutes walk from the old one, which made it possible to move by stages over a week or so. but this gradual process also revealed the degrees by which i transferred my sense of 'home' from one place to another.

on the first day i moved three-quarters of my possessions to the new flat, leaving pictures, fragile items, and clothes behind. and the old place was still home. the next day i moved most of the rest, leaving only items for disposal and cleaning things. and the old flat was still home, even when empty [which surprised me a bit]. i went back a couple of times during the week to clean, and it was still home. the new place was nicer, but like a hotel to me. i was among boxes, still cleaning after the previous inhabitants. in someone else's home. the next weekend i cleared the old flat completely and finished cleaning it for handover. it was still home, still a pang to leave for the last time, even though it was not a good place. it had its qualities, which made me take it in the first place - the tall windows and shutters, the balcony, the afternoon light, the birds in the yew tree outside. which sometimes held their own against the shabbiness and encroaching dirt.

on saturday i went back to collect stray post, looked up at the balcony, outdoor furniture, shuttered windows and thought "mine". and then on sunday i changed the lightbulbs and lampshades in the new flat, and now it was home. and the old place is not home any more. inhabitation's a gradual process, but for me it seems to be changing the lights, more than any other single action, that takes possession of a place.