In the almost four years that I've lived in Portland, I have moved a total of soon to be seven times. While each move was attached to a different circumstance, I became accustomed to impermanence. Ever longing for the conceptual format of the home mind frame. routinely used to packing my belongings in a mere five hours and hightailing it to the next place. Preserving only the utmost essentials. Leaving people, materials, places and myself behind at some point.

I moved into a little blue house located around the Alberta art district, in July 2015. This was the first time my living space has enlarged bigger than a shoe closet or someone's garden shed. The house includes me, my partner Matthew, a pair of our lovely friends Marley and Tyler, along with three felines. The contrast of four people and three cats all bundled up together has honestly been a crucial experience in my life.

I have been manipulated by roommates, cheated, ripped off, abused by housing partners. I lived in the inner city of Portland for the first three years. The kind of living I grew fond of, keeping everything owned in plain sight and a knife in my boot 24 hours a day. I grew into quite the city rat, and I liked it that way. I thought that's how it was supposed to be. Frankly, I didn't know the difference between a good living situation, to a sh**hole. I didn't really care, as long as I had a bed somewhere in the city, it was enough for me.

Then, the tables drastically flipped. Coincidentally, my partner and two friends individual contracts were ending in each of their homes and all at once a beautiful loophole offered an escape route for me to cash in my closet for a bedroom. I still thank the universe, for not even a month later I threw all of my belongings and my cat into my car once again. Except this time I was headed over the Freemont bridge, into the northeast industrial district.

Moving into our house was a dream. I couldn't wrap my head around it for weeks. I would double check and make sure I was allowed in every room of the house. That I didn't have to keep my belongs packed up and shoved in the closet. I felt like I'd just been rescued from an animal shelter. I was the only one out of the four of us who had moved here from the inner city and I was completely thrown out of my element. All at once, I didn't have to make sure I ran through certain blocks at night to make it home safely. I didn't have to carry my knife on my body anymore, a certain habit I haven't necessarily lost, but I try not to wear one. There was no dumpster outside that I had to unlock for scavengers anymore, in fact, there was no dumpster at all. Instead, there was grass and trees, something I haven't lived around since I moved away from home.

I will be leaving this house on June 1. I am growing into even more of an adult and transitioning into a place with just my partner. I am excited (stressed) about the move. I know it's for the better and things will work out. Yet, I didn't honestly believe I would ever grow attached to a house again. As I start packing, I feel a strange drop in my stomach, a melancholy reminder that I'm leaving the first real foundation I've ever made in Portland, it took three years to get this far. This little blue house is my home, the inhabitants are my family and the upcoming loss stings with every box I fill.

I just want to thank you, little blue. You changed my entire life. Opened my eyes to permanence, all around saved me from the void of loneliness and isolation. Thank you for teaching me about solidarity and comfort. I've learned you can grow to trust a structure with love. You can build a relationship with the floor boards that hold you and the walls that keep you warm. This home has become a dear friend of mine, a companion I'll eternally cherish.

This house is the first to hold open arms in my direction. From the first minute I walked into my new bedroom, opened the windows and took a breath of my new reality,I became someone stronger. I used to feel a terrible envy toward those with real homes. Rooms assigned for different items, a place they could be vulnerable and express a freedom to fear. Now I can say I've had that, the full-length tenant experience.

This house has been a milestone, I no longer want to run. I have shaped a sense of living standards that I will no longer degrade myself from. I now understand that it takes more than a bed to call a place your own. A home is to feel wanted, to leave your dresser unlocked and your shoes anywhere you want. I know that home is a place bigger than a mindset, it's a physical placement that you don't have to convince yourself is valid.

I am forever grateful, little blue. you are much more than house, to me you are a consecration. I pack my bags in a shy mourning and humbleness, in strong hopes you won't forget me.