I was in a long moving process, emptying my deceased uncle’s apartment, the place where I spent most of my childhood, near Carcavelos beach. My uncle was my closest relative, my safe space.
Long weeks of separating in boxes what to keep and what to give, carrying furniture and home appliances down the stairs, and stressing because that’s what these movings do to us. Torn because I wanted to store some of my uncle’s things close to me, but had little available space in my house.
She used to be seated on a yellow bench at the park near my uncle’s place everyday after lunch. Always reading a different book. I recall Iliad, The Divine Comedy and Paradise Lost.
She didn’t have the look of an epic literature enthusiast but, who does? And, how did that lady have enough headspace for such daily readings?
On my final day of moving things, while carrying out the very last few boxes, I found the guts I had stored deep inside and asked my questions.
She smiled. Told me about KUBOO and the ease such Self-Storage brought upon her daily routine.
I knew I had to know more, not just about her, but about this KUBOO and what they were doing to simplify her life. So I invited her for a coffee.
The rest is history. Or as we like to call it, our own epic narrative.
I guess in some way Dante was right and the path to Paradise really does begin in Hell, but if you’re lucky enough to end up at KUBOO, the path to Paradise is secured.
