Prologue

I hate “Fight Club”

I never liked it for a lot of reasons that, for now at least , can wait ( we can talk about them one day if you want).

Though there was that line in the movie that always stuck in my mind.

At a certain moment a character explains to another one how he joined the army of that lunatic of Edward Norton/ Brad Pitt and quotes “You are not what you own.”.

When I did arrive here, the living room of the flat was more or less like you see it in the pic.



It was empty, white, clean that much that the horrible linoleum that you see under me could allow it.

The first two weeks, I had only my clothes with me and slept on the floor on a mattress ( pardon me, dog kennel) made out from my winter pullovers, covered by a sheet ( first mattress (again, dog kennell) in the world one foot wide 6 5” long).

I arrived there broke, waititng for my first pay and bringing only my clothes in a bag and in four garbage plastic sacks.

After the first paycheck I bought myself a couch from IKEA that I had to build using a stone as hammer ( unbelieveable uh? Not even a hammer) and after that everything else came.

Three years later I leave this flat for another flat I bought and now I'm here, sitting and look up to this ceiling for the last time.

The new tenant will take possession of this flat this afternoon ad I will leave him this attic as the tenant before me did.

I bring in my new home everything that I call “mine” and that I found in those years.

So here we are back to that phrase.

Who or what leaves this flat? Me? Or is it what I own? Are they the same? Am I what I own?

The object, the furniture, the book are certainly me.

Whom other could they be?.

I wanted it, I desired it and I put it in that puzzle that I called home.

Nonetheless, each object is not myself, seen that in each following moment it can leave me, be sold, be lost, be given away.

I was this flat for three years and now it is not me anymore because I, in a few hours, will not anymore be there.

I bring myself and, inside me, my memories in my new house, thus I'm even what I do not own anymore.

This diary is meant to tell my story, through my new house, the works I will do in it, the places it is built in, the stories that will live inside it.

This, if you want, is the beginnig of a tale that starts from an empty living room and that, even I, do not know how will end.

I hope you'll like it.