A new series: Graduating

I have been on an incredibly long journey, almost 6 years in the making. On April 15th – though technically June 7th and October 16th – that journey ends. And like all journey’s that means another one starts.

I left Wales, the place I’d been living since I was 12, and had completed my Grades 8-13 for many reasons. There was a lot more history there that just stifled me, much of which stems from the fact that I moved back and forth between Wales and Canada every 5 years from the age of 2. I was a shy, brutally anxious, and an ultimately passive girl. I was 18, terrified by the world, and sure that if I stayed in Wales I would never grow. I would be stuck there forever, and thinking about it now I may not have even survived. In my head, I needed to leave, and so I did.

I arrived back in Canada on September 1st 2013. 15 days after my 18th Birthday, and with only a few suitcases to call my own. I had maybe $45 in cash and only about $25 in my bank account. For the most part, my family didn’t believe I’d survive a month and I’d be moving back to Wales. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t let myself go back to a place where I had raised my little sister for 6 years – a mother at 12 basically. And no matter how rude and heartless and demeaning my parents were, I couldn’t let them win.

I took a year off to learn to be in Canada again, it wasn’t my first time making this move, I’d done it five or six times before in my life. But this time I was alone, no parents, no money, as a young adult. I had support, of course, my grandparents gave me a place to live, drove me to places I needed to go, and fed me. Without them, these 6 years would not be possible, I wouldn’t have had enough money or enough time. I owe them so much.

From there, this story really starts. I started at York University in September 2014, moving into my dorm in Bethune and starting my Degree in Environmental Studies.

Honestly, York were some of the best years of my life. I was stressed, but I never failed a class -even though at times things got really close -and I learnt along the way that you don’t have to attend every class, just your labs really. I learnt a lot about myself in my dorm room, a lot about my limits, a lot about my ingenuity. I learnt how to procrastinate …. a lot.

I did a lot when I lived in York – when I lived close to the city. I went camping, I learnt how to use the transit system forwards and back. I got my first real job at High Park as a nature interpreter.

I met my best friend on my first day of Frosh, she and I did everything and went everywhere together. All our classes were together, all our labs. We were not often apart except for overnight. She was a commuter, and I lived on residence. She was fun, eccentric, wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or help anyone she considered a friend. I loved her, and while I cherish those years, later in this education journey we went our separate ways.

Now, between living on residence, then commuting for 2-hours a day, then living in a student house with 3 other friends, I was lucky enough to meet my current partner. We’ve been through hell and back, our relationship since the beginning has been built on solid, uncensored communication and distance. We are going on 3 years together now and I couldn’t be happier. I also made a new best friend, lived with him for a year, and even met him again later. Honestly, his friendship to me has been limitless and priceless.

It was my second year at York that things changed, and my life changed – not that I knew it obviously. York (or the Environmental Studies Faculty) has partnerships with many colleges, a dual credential. Essentially it means that if you attend York for 3 years, and go to the college for 2 years you’ll get both your honours degree and your advanced standing diploma. The only catch – you essentially have to fit three-and-a-half years of your degree credits into 3 years, and two-and-a-half years of your college diploma in two years.

Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. I cried, bitched, moaned, and almost gave up on a few occasions, but nothing has made me grow faster than this last 5 years. I am an entirely changed person, and I am honoured I was able to go for this opportunity. I will talk more about my time at school specifically another time though.

Fleming was a RIDE let me tell you. ID tests, specimen collections, reports, stream assessments, presentations, interviews, hard-hats, and a thousand more experiences I could never have imagined. Fleming college was an absolute sledge-hammer to my skull and a morale boost I didn’t know I needed. I have grown more in just this last year of school than I have in the four years prior, and THAT growth was substantial. I am a NEW person and the same person. I am the person I want to be and it’s incredible. I’ll be doing a while york-fleming partnership blog post later if anyone is curious.

So, now what? I’m 24 years old this year, I have 5-years of OSAP debt in a province that just decided to screw us over, a credit card full of interest increases, and no job. I have a brain full of ideas and excitement and anxiety, and a whole life of experience to share. I’m going into the Environmental Sector (hopefully) in a province that is currently cutting-back all the green programs that promised me jobs, and with a neighbouring country whose leader doesn’t even believe in Climate Change.

So this is my new series. A series of a new-graduate trying to figure out life. I’ll be moving in with my partner of almost-three years soon, trying to find a job. I’ll have to make decisions about my car and about all my stuff, and about where I see the next few years of my future.

My updates will be sporadic, but I’m hoping to put links to all the sources I use, places I draw inspiration, and people who guide me along the way. Who knows, maybe this will turn into a ‘how-to survive graduation and the adult world we don’t want’.

So, I hope you tag along for this While life, maybe we’ll learn something along the way.

Be gentle with yourself,



Today is one of the many ‘major life changes’ – this time I hope it actually sticks.

Sometimes when you’re in a dark place, you think you’ve been buried when you’ve actually been planted.

Today was the first night I started the biggest change in my life. I’ve started this night many times before, good intentions with no backbone, but this time I’m determined to make it stick.

I am taking control of my life – my health specifically – and getting it under control. I’m doing this for many reasons, many that have only really become clear to me in the last year. I am aiming to lose over 100lbs. over the course of a year, but honestly even dropping 50lbs. is a good start.

I’m aiming to have a body that will carry me through life, and (important for me personally) a body that will be able to carry my children healthily if conceive at all.

The reality of PCOS and the risks I am under – both health-wise and in terms of a healthy pregnancy if I want one – hit me fast and hard this year.

This time, unlike many times I didn’t just jump into with enthusiasm, going to the gym but dwindling out after one or two inconsistent tries. This time I thought logically about what I am currently capable of – what my schedule and mental health are capable of. I thought about money and time and also anxiety.

Maybe it’s not always about fixing something broken. Maybe it’s about starting over and creating something better.

I researched fitness routines, Level-One and the natural progression those might take if/when I found that I needed to change them. I looked at other plus-sized ladies advice about how often to work out or what worked for them. I researched PCOS and the types of workouts that worked for others, and the number of times they worked out. It’s hard, I’ve had no direction in this matter, but I’m determined.

Further, from that, I started eating a healthy (healthier, I’m a student it’s not easy) long before I started working out. I cut out pops and sweets, started tracking calories to try and keep track of my eating and cut portions. I started looking up recipes without dairy and red meats. It hasn’t really shown any results yet, but the habits are starting to be engrained. That’s what matters, trying to do everything at once has never worked for me, trying to eat healthily, work out, be a student, balance a budget – it just didn’t work.

I found a place that I was comfortable to work out in. A 24/7 gym I had to drive to (it’s winter) but could walk to when it’s warmer. It has a pass-key to get in after office hours, and it felt good that I could go in the middle of the night if I couldn’t sleep and also not have to face anyone. It has a women’s-only section, with all the equipment and weights that I will need. It made me feel comfortable. I can shower there when I am finished and it’s not that far from my house. It’s the first time walking into a Gym didn’t make me feel…uncomfortable like I didn’t belong.

It helps that through my school it was free for me to use.

This brings me tonight. A rainy, freezing day in Canada where a weather warning is in effect to warn against going outside, or driving or doing anything but staying inside. And I was wondering if an hour of ‘Just Dance’ was the same as an hour and a half at the gym. I was determined though to not let my first day of my new life to be delayed. I had given myself a week in school to get back into the ebbs and flows. But I was NOT going to let myself get discouraged by freezing rain and bad roads.

I took it slow, I was patient. If it was worse and it was dangerous I would have settled for ‘Just Dance’ but I needed tonight.

And I won’t lie.

It was awful. I felt ashamed, and embarrassed, and anxious from the moment I stepped into the gym. I changed my shoes and dashed straight to the women’s only section but I still felt my heart start racing and my cheeks start to blush.

Even though I have 3 housemates with me I knew this was my battle.

And it was awful. Despite my research, I fumbled in my workout, unsure of which free-weight was which. I was awkward and wanted to cry. I thought I was going to throw-up at one point and I definitely wanted to hide.

I was ashamed, and embarrassed, and just all around miserable and anxious to be in this space that makes me feel like I don’t belong. I don’t deserve to be healthy.

But then I started repeating it. This is for my future.

I repeated this through my warm up

I repeated this through my free-weights.

I repeated this through my cardio. No matter how many times I had to slow down. No matter how much it burned and how much I thought people were staring at me. I remembered why I wanted to do this in the first place.

I remembered why I was starting this on a Monday.

And those last 30 seconds of my cardio I sprinted. Just to prove I could. Just to prove I didn’t give up.

I feel gross now. I feel wobbly and pathetic and exhausted. I have an 8 hour school day tomorrow, an 8am start, and even though the next two days are a gym-break for me I feel like I won’t make it.

I feel like this ‘new start’ will just end like all the others.

But this is a mental battle I must have to myself. Even if I have friends, and a supportive boyfriend, and wonderful family that believe in me, it’s the few people who make me feel worthless that will dominate my thoughts. It’s the little bits of self-doubt that will send me into a tumbling spiral of miserable anxiety.

I’m the only one inside my head. I’m the only one inside my body. I am the only one who can make myself get up and do anything. And that makes all the difference.

So, here it is. My promise to myself. Putting it out there.

Day One:

So as I move on from this evening, these are the things that I advise you:

  • Find your motivation. Whether it’s getting fit to be able to carry your children one day, or slimming down to fit in those roller coaster seats – find it. Find something that gets you angry and then gets your motivated.
  • Find a place to work out that makes you comfortable. 24/7 gyms with women’s-only sections make me comfortable. But maybe you’re not female-identifying, or maybe the thought of being surrounded by other women working out makes you uncomfortable. Either way, you need to find that space that you can find your head-space and get those workouts in. Be at home; be at a gym – just have a SPACE separate to home/work that lets you work.
  • Research to a point. If you have a condition that makes working out difficult (because of heart problems, metabolic issues, mobility limitations etc) research what works for others like you or talk to your doctor. Work effectively, make sure you know what you’re doing so you’re not overwhelmed when you finally do get to the gym. But don’t let yourself fall into the ‘but I haven’t found the perfect workout yet‘ it’s not going to happen and you’re never going to get to the gym.
  • Start in whatever way works for you. Maybe change out your diet first, or work out first, or cut out a few different foods. I needed to start out small, but maybe you need to cut all these unhealthy habits cold-turkey to gain success. Try small first, it always feels like a failure if cold-turkey doesn’t work.
  • Don’t beat yourself up over small-losses. Don’t punish yourself for enjoying chocolate, or not counting the calories so closely over the holidays. You are here on this earth to thrive at life. As you go along you will stop eating as much, and will naturally know your limits. Enjoy those home cooked meals when you go home, or your favourite home-town ice cream when you visit.
  • Celebrate your successes. Maybe you lost 10lbs. Maybe you went to the gym 5-times a week for a month. Celebrate those things! You should be so proud! Buy yourself that new gym bag or new workout pants. Do small things to motivate.
  • Repeat your motivation. Chant it over and over and over in your head when that last 7-minutes is burning your thighs. But get through that first workout. Get through that last 3-minutes of cardio. You will be mad at yourself after if you quit-out at the last moment. Even if you have to take it slower, even if you count it as a long cool-down. Get Through It. You Can. I know you can. Believe in you. You will get there.

And remember:

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Losing yourself.

I find myself in this strange space right now. It’s a hazy uncomfortable place between not being able to throw up and absolute contentment. But scary contentment. The discontent that feels like contentedness, that feels like you don’t care when you actually do.

Because I am not content in any way. not in where I am in life, not with where my body is and how it feels, and not with my attitudes. I am not content with my school work and I am not content.

I’ve lost a grip on the things I love and the parts of me that made me feel unique. I’m kind of just existing right now with this constant sense of discontent. I’ve lost my love and drive for art; I’ve lost my drive and love for reading; I’ve lost my love for anime and writing, and I’m just existing in this world where I’m a student with no money and no stability.

I exist simply to graduate and it’s slowly killing me.

Because even when I’m getting this amazing grades I feel great for a minute or two but then I just feel this crushing existence on me again like I don’t have time to live. Like I have a responsibility to my schooling, to my bills, to my debt not to love life, and not to buy new paints, or try something new.

It is likely depression in actuality, and I’m working on talking to someone about my mental health.

I’m trying to take on too much, but all the things (mental and physical health, school work, me time, trying to find a job, etc) is all interconnected. You can’t work on one thing.

It’s so easy to lose yourself. To forget all the things you love in favour or success. Or to survive. It’s easy to push off the crocheting, or the painting, or the hours you’d spend writing fanfiction or poetry. It’s easy to have to. When things are building up and choking you what else are you going to do?

It’s here and now, sitting outside in the freezing winter evening, trying to find any reason to exist that I wonder how hard it’ll be to find all those things once again.


I have this fairly irrational fear about packing.

As of now, I haven’t lived in one place for more than 8 months at a time for the past…..4 years. And as such you’d think that I’m getting pretty good at packing, packing light and fast and efficiently.

Well you’d be dead wrong. Where I’d like to think I’m fairly efficient, especially in when I get my packing finished, I am definitely not a light or confident packer.

For instance, I’ll be moving 2 hours away from my grandparents house (where I keep a majority of my things, and if my stay-point between places during the 4 months left in the year) and so I am packing pretty much EVERYTHING I might need in the year so I don’t have to come back as often*.

*This is because of family issues and not because I’m ungrateful for everything they’ve ever done for me*

As such, not including the things my roommate at my new house has already brought to the new house for me, I have:

  • 4 medium Rubbermaid boxes
  • 2 suitcases (and a small carry-on style)
  • 2 backpacking 40/60L size
  • my laptop and backpack
  • my desktop (my main computer).
  • A plastic, 3-drawer unit from Walmart

And while I’ve gone through this several times. I’ve downsized twice, gotten rid of a lot of clothes I just don’t think I’ll need or use anymore, I still feel like I have way WAY too much stuff.

But all this pretty much contains all my clothes – summer and winter (winter boots, and my big and small winter coats) – all my recreational things, drawing painting etc, my bedding and towels, my computer (obviously, I’m moving for school after all), and any kitchen things I might need. So theoretically, it’s not too much at all.

But my anxiety, my worry that someone will judge just makes me so nauseous. It makes me want to go through everything again to make sure I’m not taking anything I really really don’t need.

There are two boxes that I feel might be worth leaving behind if to aid my anxiety. However, they serve, what to me is an important purpose too. The one is filled with decor for my room. it’s a small but bright room true, but it is not home, and I enjoy filling my space with comfortable bright things. The second is filled with books, non-school books. Both books I’ve read before and books I haven’t had a chance to read.

Yes both might be unnecessary, this place is not my permanent house, but it will be my house for 8 months and that is important.

So as I sit and pack, I’ll go through everything one more time, and this time, the weekend I leave I will be throwing out everything in my house that I do not use. Because this year I want to start new and these things I bring to my new house (and the few pieces of clothing or heirloom and sentimental art) will be all that’s left. I don’t want to keep coming back to a cluttered space, and this time I won’t.

But it’s hard to get rid of everything. Hard to get rid of everything you started your life with. After all, the things in my room at my grandparents’ house started as all I had in Canada when I started my journey. SO I really find it difficult to just shred or recycle it.

But I am also looking forward to having just this, just what I pack and nothing else.

I never feel Wanderlust, until I do.

I have never been a person afflicted by wanderlust. I have liked my feet firmly on the ground, even as my head wanders the clouds.

I have never really wondered at the wonders beyond the seas, the places only reached by charter plane or puttering boat. I haven’t wanted to travel or see the far reaches of a place. I haven’t wanted to leave my home or see the world.

Sure I’ve been curious. Fascinated by culture and understanding of how important it is we have understanding and tolerance of the differences. But barring a vacation now and then, or a trip to my own back yard -IE into the Canadian wilderness to understand that and how we’ve dishonoured it – I haven’t wanted to leave.

It might be because I’ve never remained in one place for more than 5 years, or that at one point I moved 3 times in a year, and now move at least twice a year and have for the past four years.

I  don’t have wanderlust, I don’t feel that drive to get away. Until I do.

Until I am overwhelmed by responsibilities and the weight of my own future. Until I’m faced with my lack of skills, or looks, or self-esteem. It is then, during exam times, and hard times that suddenly I heard the wind calling.

Suddenly I have the need to grab a bag with just the bare necessities, grab my dog and my partner and just go. To leave with no destination and no end goal. To enter the words and never come back. To talk to the people who travel for a living, or who like me are travelling to get away from it all.

I don’t experience wanderlust until it is all I have left to feel, and I wonder, in all my daydreams that are becoming less and less grounded, if that’s necessarily a bad thing.

The most terrifying moment.

The most terrifying moment is Sunday night, just as the afternoon fades away.

It’s getting a phone call from a person who never calls, a call from a place far away, where time slips away and for them, it is not the afternoon but twilight.

It’s a harried voice, and you don’t know if you’re falling or if you’re floating because it’s a desperate – “Talk some sense into him”.

It’s screaming in the background you recognize too well because you spent 6 years of your life taking blows so that she never made that sound. Your sister, the girl your raised shouldn’t sound like that.

The most terrifying moment is choking back sobs when he throws the phone away, a breathless, solid “Fuck it all” the only proof that your words reached him.

It’s choking back tears again, burning them away when your sister is still screaming, and sobbing and her tears are bringing back memories of every drunken dispute you got between to protect her from blows she should never have aimed at her childhood.

The most terrifying moment is a stern calmness when you demand your mom to give the phone to her, to get her out of here. No one else seems to realise they’re allowing a child to witness all this. She doesn’t need to hear the voices using her as leverage. She already watched the event, she doesn’t need to be held to it.

It’s talking through her sobbing, gently coaxing conversation, drying tears with metaphorical hands only, reassuring and reaffirming things that were destroyed by frantic people in the downstairs living room.

It’s hanging up the phone six hours later, the ambulance there, the screaming stopped, and your sister finally, FINALLY falling asleep.

It’s having been asked only once if you were okay.

The most terrifying moment is being three thousand miles away, at three in the morning, too shocked to cry, still burning and unable to cry, waiting for the call back to tell you it’s all okay.

It doesn’t come though. Because you were needed for a moment. Just that single moment. You did your job. You were useful, but you won’t get that phone call. You don’t even get called to tell you he survived the night, and later the week.

The Most terrifying moment is being forgotten in the harried screaming of people who can’t handle mental health, and wondering to yourself… if it were you, who they’d call on a Sunday afternoon to look after your little girl?


Anxiety will sneak up on you from nowhere, I’ve found. And this I’ve also found is the reason that people without some kind of consistent anxiety find difficult to understand.

Today started off wonderfully. It was winding down a calm wonderful evening with the partner of my heart; celebrating our version of Valentine’s day with games and take out and cookies and snuggles.

But I’ve had to travel, seeing family who is ill and who I owe a lot. And so we can’t be together right now. He’s also having a really hard time right now, wth family, and stress, and school, and himself. I’m not there.

This, this moment of knowing I’m not there, that knowing if he’s okay is dependent on his ad my phone working – is dependent on text messages, because he’s working so we can’t call, and he’s exhausted right now so we can’t call.

I am dependant on his wellbeing, in more ways than just wanting a future together. He is grounding, he is the heartbeat that brings me down from my anxieties.

So that his unwellness, his anxiety cause me anxiety, my being away from him spikes my heart rate and make tears appear from nowhere, and my being away from him also means I have no grounding is ironic.

Ironic in the tragic way that lovers become dependent, and dependency becomes something more, something discussed under bated breathes. Something that makes ethereal and fairytale out of love and acceptance of all but self.

From the girl who wants too much

It has been an insecurity that I ask for too much. Too much time, too much support, just too much. It’s something I’ve struggled with for many years- and still do- though I’ve been getting better at realising my own worth, and the fact that those who love me want to give me things, and I’m not an obligation.

But still, I find myself wanting.

Wanting to be done with school, wanting to be done with winter. I find myself wanting to be finished essays I haven’t even started writing yet, and being done with being 21.

It’s probably my depression but that’s beside the point.

I’m always wanting, and at 21, the things I want are a bit unusual.

I want to be done school not because school sucks, but because I’m bored and because I want to do my Master’s. I don’t want to be an undergrad anymore, and I don’t want to be this age. I want to be done school so I can do more schooling at a level I hope to pursue my own interests, and not force feed myself books of topics I don’t think will change anything. I want to be out of York so that I can continue my YouTube stuff, because in my head, being away from York, in my masters or a college will mean I have the time to do this.

I want to live in a house with my partner, stable enough to not feel that heart-pounding fear that I’m going to fail and have to drop out, just for one  god-damned day. I want to feel successful for one minute, and not nauseous over the $1 in my bank account and the $550 rent that needs to be paid in a week. I want to be engaged and married, I want to have a family. I want to settle down for good.

But I also want to go camping, and have 3 dogs and not be in an apartment anymore. I want to live somewhere in the wilds, and also in the city with a giant bay window with plants overflowing the bench seat.

Not because I see everyone else doing it, people my age typically want the opposite of that it seems, but because for me stability seems to solve my problems.

I want to be a young adult, still, but I want to also be further than I already am. I want to be stable and successful, I want to do with my time as I want. In my head being engaged, or being a grad student, or even just graduating and being away from York feels like it’ll make things better. Maybe when I’m a grad student I’ll be stable. Maybe when I’m in college I’ll be able to do crafting, or drawing or youtube again.

It’s not true because I’ll still be paying rent and tuition and won’t have enough money for supplies. But it feels that way when I’m so distressed about life.

From the girl who wants too much, who wants to grow up, but only in the way in which I have my own apartment, and not a student residence, and not a basement, I say it’s okay.

It’s okay to want to grow up, to want to settle down, to not like the party life and the drinking games; that’s alright. Grow how you like, and do the things that make you most happy.

Drink if you like, write slam poetry, nerd out. Be happy learning to cook, or knit, or keep a home.

Keep wanting more.

The things in life I may never get; but that are sure lovely to dream about.

So I originally posted this on my tumblr page but thought that this really was a perfect blog post. So I’m sharing this with you.

1) A tiny house, and I don’t mean just a really small home, I mean a tiny home that I built myself on a trailer. One built with the hands of my friends and family as they help me, and with resources I foraged from reuse stores and old furniture.

2) A garden. Not just any garden, but one filled with fruit and mostly vegetables. With herbs for my cooking, maybe even a section just for native plants from the area I live.

3) At the same time as wanting a tiny home, I also know that I will one day have children, and hopefully a partner to raise them with, and many dogs; so I realise I will have to graduate to a home one day. It is in this home that we’ll have a fireplace and an open plan bottom floor. Big windows will let in the natural light and the floors will be real hardwood. My kids will make forts under the stairs (pretending to be Harry Potter, eventually we’ll make this our reading nook, it was wasted space anyway) my dogs will sprawl in the space between the kitchen and living room. It will be quaint and cozy.

4) In this home my partner (or friends, who knows how I will raise my kids) have bought and made our own our furniture will be mismatched antiques. Bought from garage sales, and second hand stores (or habitat for humanity, I don’t waste an opportunity to help a good cause) and we will sand them and maybe repaint a few. But it will not match. We’ll have 4 or 6 different dining chairs none of which match the table, our couches will be covered in pillows we make ourselves. Our dressers won’t match the bed. But it will be home; cozy and unique like we enjoy living our lives.

5) To live within convenient walking distance to a fresh market, or a farm/farmers market. Somewhere that sells seasonal produce so that I might learn to cook like that. But also because I enjoy eating things like bananas and romaine lettuce, but bananas ripen all together too quickly to eat, and running into the store every other day for lettuce and or a single banana is just a little silly to me. Especially because I (currently) have to take 2 buses to get there.

6) I will live in a neighborhood where instead of family at every other door in the street it’s my friends. Ones I trust and who have similar ideals to me, about raising our kids and having dogs, and saving the environment and being politically involved. Where my kids are “going to aunty Sarah’s house” even though we’ve never been related, or “are hanging out with the cousins” even though I only have one sister.

7) On that note, having enough money to give my sister the home she deserves, even if she’ll be 18 at the time would be nice. That’s a dream that isn’t all that far off, just four years really. And of all of them might be the most achievable.

8) To go camping at least once a month. To get into a car and drive for a few hours in no particular direction. Find a site, or hike to it, and sit under the stars. Just my dog(s) and I, and perhaps a friend or two.

9) To have a bicycle that fits my height and live in a space I feel safe to ride it in. Perhaps with fewer cars, where most of the people around me do the same. Maybe even one of those basket bikes, so I can shop, and carry young children or dogs or camping gear or anything. That’d be a nice thing.

10) And because I like to round things out neatly, in the house I have one day, for this I am sure I will own with hard work and good investment (regardless of if I had to build the tiny home myself, or renovate our cozy home with my partner) I want a large bay window filled with green. Flowers and plants will fill this window, letting in filtered green light. Catching warmth on long leaves and round ones; through pale red and blue petals, and off of thick succulent leaves. This window will frame my home with it’s hanging baskets of green and gold and purple and yellow. It will welcome everyone. With large cwtchy chairs and couches, my loved ones will gather here, with cups of tea and coffee, or juice if they prefer, and my dogs and cats will curl at their feet (or mine, if my friends would really prefer to avoid the hair).