For the past four years, I hadn’t lived alone.
First it was Tbilisi. Then Vietnam. Always a roommate. Always shared kitchens, shared groceries, shared routines, shared life. And honestly? I loved it. There’s something comforting about someone else being in the house… the background noise of another human existing. The “want tea?” conversations. The accidental late-night chats that somehow become therapy sessions.
But life has a funny way of nudging you when you don’t realize you’re ready.
I had to move.
Which was heartbreaking, because my old place felt like a little dream. A traditional Vietnamese house tucked into a neighborhood that backed up to rice fields. Big garden. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Sweet neighbors. The kind of place where afternoons felt slow and golden and peaceful.
It wasn’t the house that stopped working… it was the landlord situation. And sometimes that’s just how it goes. You can love a place and still know it’s time to go.
And then the dominoes started falling.
Because of shifting budgets, my roommate of four years couldn’t continue living together. No drama. No falling out. Just life doing its life thing. But wow… that realization landed heavier than I expected.
So obviously… I did what any calm and rational person would do and immediately rented a place slightly above my budget.
Naturally.
I found this house and fell in love within about three seconds. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. And a pool… which in a Vietnamese summer feels less like a luxury and more like survival equipment.
My logical brain was like, “You will immediately get a roommate. This is fine. This is a temporary financial decision.”
My soul was like, “We’re doing this.”
So I signed.
I moved in. My old roommate stayed a few days to help me get settled, which made the transition feel softer… like a gentle landing instead of a hard drop. And then she found her own place about 40 minutes away.
And suddenly… the house was quiet.
I thought I would hate it.
I thought I would feel lonely.
I thought the silence would feel heavy.
But here’s the plot twist I didn’t see coming…
I don’t miss having a roommate.
I miss seeing my best friend every day.
That part, yes.
That part I feel.
But living alone? The day-to-day environment shift? Oh. Oh wow.
I didn’t realize how much I was craving this.
The Table I Didn’t Know I Needed
I have a real kitchen now.
A table where I can actually sit down to eat instead of perching somewhere with a laptop.
I cook. I linger.
I didn’t realize how much more like home a place can feel when there’s a kitchen table… it’s become my indoor happy place, the heart of the house in a way I haven’t felt in a really long time.
And the freedom? Highly underrated.
Dancing in the kitchen while something simmers on the stove. Having full conversations with myself about what spice I definitely forgot to buy. Singing terribly and dramatically. Being completely and unapologetically silly without that tiny voice wondering if someone in the next room is questioning my mental stability.
It turns out I am excellent company. Truly elite.
The house itself is beautiful. There’s this landscaped walkway leading up to the entrance that makes coming home feel oddly cinematic… like I should be carrying groceries in slow motion. The main space is open and breezy and spills out into the back where the pool and a covered seating area live their best tropical life.
And something unexpected happened.
I started hosting.
At first just one friend at a time. Then small groups. Then… we hosted an actual organized dinner party. Real dinner party energy. People sitting around a table, sharing food, laughing, lingering way past the point anyone planned to stay.
And I had this moment where I looked around and realized…
A house becomes a home because of the people in it… and the people who pass through it.
The Morning Shift
And the changes didn’t stop at dinner parties and kitchen dance breaks.
My mornings quietly transformed too.
For years, mornings looked the same. Slow coffee at home. Long chats in pajamas. Hours slipping by without really noticing. Cozy. Familiar. Easy.
But now… my mornings have a little more movement to them.
Instead of lingering around the house with cup after cup of coffee, I step out into the day. I hop over to a neighborhood coffee shop and start my morning surrounded by the soft buzz of life happening around me. Scooters passing. Espresso machines hissing. Someone clinking ice into a glass. Conversations I’m not part of but somehow feel included in anyway.
Sometimes I wander through the market afterward, picking up vegetables that still look like they were pulled from the ground five minutes ago. No real plan. Just grabbing whatever looks good and letting future me figure out what dinner becomes.
Other mornings I end up driving out to a new place to meet a friend. A casual coffee date turns into breakfast. Breakfast turns into a long conversation. Suddenly it’s late morning and the day feels like it already lived a little.
It’s funny… I thought living alone might make life feel smaller.
But somehow it made my world feel bigger.
My home became my cozy landing place. And my mornings became my doorway into the outside world.
I’m still open to the idea of a roommate someday. I’m just not in a rush. I’m letting it be casual, letting it unfold naturally. If I meet someone who truly aligns and feels like a positive, no-drama addition to my life, I’d consider it.
But for now… I’m pretty happy singing and dancing in the kitchen without an audience.
A Re-Discovered Life 