I never wanted to store my things. I love my things.

My things are not mundane things, they are important objects given to me by dear friends, some of which have already passed away; they are books, thousands of books that I hold dear and who taught me how to live and become, they are records of great musicians and lyrical poets that also vastly contributed to who I am today, and some Art from friends mostly, that colour my life and brings back memories.

But when the choice was done to move to Portugal, to start nothing less but a Self-storage, of all ironies, I had to store my belongings in a Self-storage back home. Ah! Storing! It’s a bit like forgetting. Like forgetting that you loved something or someone once. Far from the eyes far from the heart says a french proverb, and it’s true. I learned to live without any of them. I adapted like anyone faced with the choice of moving away from their roots. I adapted and I stored every single bit of my belongings before I came to Lisbon, and I don’t regret it.

I made sure though that the space I was storing them in was safe, friendly, secure and insured, so I could sleep on both my ears. And I did. I found the best Self-storage and I went there. It’s been 5 years, and I barely think about it.

A friend offered me a garage to store everything, of course I declined. In a garage? why? These are the things that I hold dear, and even if I don’t see them, I want to know that they’re safe.

So here I am, in Lisbon, unworried, until the day I get them back again. I sit sometimes on the beach of Carcavelos, 10 minutes from my house in Aboboda, and I think to myself that maybe storing in a safe and clean space was one of the best calls i’ve made. Romantic! To store well or not to store! That was the question.

And I answered it.