Our home is tiny (92 sq m), and not some swanky, yuppie hipster pad with Scandinavian accents or expensive designer furniture.
Its not new – we hardly renovated it and two years in, things are getting a little creaky and a little harder to clean.
Its a mess most of the time – mountains of laundry, makeup scattered across the dining table, Benjy’s toys and chews strewn across the porch and mixed in with my Ferragamos and K’s Tods.
And my kitchen? We don’t even have a proper gas hob – just an induction cooker propped on the old, defunct hob originally installed by the former owner.
But, its ours. 🙂 And truly, there’s often no place like home, our home.
For all its faults, there are so many things I love about it – how cosy and safe I feel with the warm mood lighting on, Red Velvet Cake Yankee Candle burning, and the smell of freshly brewed chai from our Dolce Gusto machine filling our tiny living room.
I love my bookshelf full of well-thumbed, old books and new, pristine titles. A plain white photo frame holding a snap of K and I in Tokyo on our honeymoon and another vintage one of my parents on theirs in Nice, France.
My collection of tea pots from London, Paris, Tokyo and everywhere I go, my mismatched Wedgewood China and cute Daiso finds.
Our house is so much like us – a mish mash of different character quirks. It’s a happy place, and everyone who comes here finds themselves sinking drowsily into our couch. Its a place almost everyone who comes to knows is a home.
And that, more than any Home & Decor – esque, pristine walk-up, is what I want our flat to be.
These were the thoughts running through my head last night as I sat at our French style white hardwood dining table (always splurge on key pieces, even if it makes your heart sink to the bottom of your Repettos), enjoying a matcha latte in one of the heavy Irish Coffee Glass Mugs we picked up on a whim at Crate and Barrel (it shows the layers of the latte so prettily) and eating off a lacy pink cake plate with one of my rabbit cameo spoons from Japan.
Every item in our home was hand-picked lovingly and has a story behind it. Not a house, but a home 🙂
A chair is still a chair
Even when there’s no one sitting there
But a chair is not a house
And a house is not a home
When there’s no one there to hold you tight,
And no one there you can kiss good night.
Boy am I glad I have someone to hold me tight, and kiss me good night, every day that he can.
Blessed, and so very thankful.