Suleyman Films

Happy Friday—Long Time, No Write!

It’s been a rollercoaster for the last two months, much of which was consumed by home-buying, packing, moving, and unpacking, each item being its own varied amount of stress and fun. But now, we are (mostly) unpacked and settled in at our new home.

It’s a strange feeling owning a home after renting for most of my adult life. Our first apartment was in Southwest, DC, near what is now the fancy and overpriced Wharf. It was small, cheap(ish), and filled with bugs. But it was cozy and a spot my now-wife/then-girlfriend could call our own. As odd as it sounds, the smell of Raid makes me nostalgic for our time there. Our second-floor unit overlooked a parking lot and a field that is now likely yet another overpriced highrise apartment, one of the dozens upon dozens that infest our old neighborhood, but the saving grace of it was the magnolia tree right outside our window. The tree bloomed each spring, and we had that to look forward to for two years. Add magnolia trees to the nostalgia bag right next to the potent scent of bug spray.

After that, we moved a few blocks closer to the Wharf, which was still a sad, under-construction mess with two restaurants and an abandoned motel. I feel like an old person looking back at a place before it became what it is now, but it’s with a certain sadness that I think of the current Wharf. Its genericness takes away from DC’s charm and character. That one-bedroom apartment was where my wife and I had many chapters in the Book of Firsts. It was our first one-bedroom, where we got our first cat, Jellybean, where we lived after getting married, where we got our first full-time adult jobs, our first run-in with bad building management and crappy neighbors, but it was also the first place where we hung photos on the walls and had a little piece of home. It was the first time we had to say goodbye to a furry little friend, too.

Our third apartment saw us move to a whole other section of DC up past the zoo in Cleveland Park. It was my favorite neighborhood, one that I visited once before moving there when I spent a weekend working as one of those people with a clipboard begging you to donate money to charity. I remember the epiphany I had eight years later, pointing to the spot where I got sunburned and realized I made a terrible salesperson. For reference, it was by the okay-to-decent Mister Chen’s Organic Chinese. There weren’t as many chapters in the Book of Firsts in Cleveland Park, but that’s not bad. It just meant we’d done so much already. We traveled a bunch, my wife received her MBA and a bunch of promotions and new jobs that helped get her to where she is now, I got a promotion, too, all with the company of our second cat, Yugi. Yugi was the bestest little guy, and if I have nostalgia for our first apartment thanks to the smell of Raid, I have nostalgia for our third every time I think of him.

Thus begins the downhill journey of our renting that ultimately led us to where we are now. After spending a few years in Cleveland Park during the pandemic, we decided to move on and found ourselves in a condo in Silver Spring. It was a great space, size-wise, and was the biggest place we’d had yet. It had two floors, a nice view, a quiet neighborhood, and a terrible landlord who decided to sell the place, kicking us out less than a year after we moved in. It was where we lost Yugi, where I regretted my choice to go to grad school, where my wife spent much of her time busy with work, and where I realized we’d have to pack and move yet again, spending time and money and sanity on a process I’d grown to hate. But, it was also where we found a new hobby in Warhammer, a game where you build and paint little dudes and fight imaginary battles on the tabletop. I finished my first manuscript. We saw tons and tons of movies downtown after dates at Sushi Jin, usually nightcapped by bubble tea or coffee at Sweeteria. It was also where we got our record player and started our record collection, a fun and not-so-cheap hobby to add to our fun and not-so-cheap Warhammer. We got another pal, Tangerine. So, despite the crappy landlord and the fact we had to move after eight months, it was a great (short) time.

I won’t dwell on the last place we lived in as I’ve devoted too much of my sanity and willpower to dealing with the single worst human being I’ve ever endured. The best part about living there was that it made us realize that we were done with renting and that even if buying would cost a little (or a lottle) more, it would be worth it. So, we left the furthest reaches of northern Silver Spring after a miserable year and found a place that we can finally call ours. We moved to the city where I grew up, Bowie, and I’m living five minutes from my old elementary school. It’s a strange feeling seeing a place I saw for so long already, looking at it from the eyes of someone older. Not a bad feeling, just a strange one. Seeing Rips and the Bowie Baysox along 301 gives me the same nostalgia as a can of bug spray, just like stopping by Bowie Town Center to run into Barnes and Noble as I did so many years ago. That’s all to say, it’s good to add home-buying to our Book of Firsts. Oh, and we have our very first garden, and it’s doing well if I say so myself.

Just like it’s good to be home.

Also, Tangerine likes it here. He’s as glad as I am to not move for a long, long time.