pictured: a bole hill sunset (one of two in this post)
As I sit in the living room of this empty house recording an audio message to my cousin, my voice echoes within its four walls, making it seem a lot larger than it actually is. I often get tired of hearing myself say cliché phrases like, ‘I can’t believe how fast time is flying’ and ‘how is it already September?!’. But it’s true, one year of living in this house had flown by. A lot of firsts were achieved within that time. I lived with Christians, specifically, two lovely girls who created a safe space for the exchanging of stories and experiences that had shaped our days, weeks, and months. I hit the milestone of owning my first car and then went on to own my second car months later when the first one gave way. This was likely due to its inability to cope with the pressure of being thirteen years old and a semi-automatic car, with features that it forgot about when the driver needed to use them. With being a new driver came several unforeseen incidents that were traumatic at the time, but have come to make good stories to tell. More on that another time…perhaps.
The four walls of my room, as thin as they are, now hold memories of cries I let out to God during moments of hopelessness and songs of praise I sang when I was in awe of his goodness. Their plastered layers are now seeped with conversations exchanged between friends both in person and over phone call conversations. Perhaps the cracks of these walls now even hang on to the deep and woody tones of the oud perfume, gifted to me by my mother, that I would spray on myself daily before leaving my room.
This, the empty house I was sitting in was located in a beautiful part of the city, on a hill with such elevation that resulted in beautiful views all around. Right opposite the house was a century old parish church that hosted weekly Sunday services as well as other local events during the week. On certain afternoons when I lounged on the centre sofa, the hustle and bustle of people going in and out of the church building made for some great people watching through the living room window.
Then were the two cafes I frequented regularly which were only within a few minutes walking distance from the house. Both offered customers a card which allowed them to get a free drink once they had first purchased and received stamps for nine others. Over time, I had accrued a collection of these cards from various cafes around the city but only managed to get free drinks from these two cafes. Lisboa was a Portuguese cafe where I first got exposed to the crumbly and sweet delights that are pastel de natas. Here, one could get natas of many flavours: chocolate, blueberry, strawberry, and vegan. Although messy to eat, the satisfaction they brought overrode the fact that their remnants would be stuck on my teeth. The other cafe – Dana, exuded a hippie energy. Oat was the default choice of milk for all their coffees. This café’s décor featured framed photographs from various towns and villages in India, which left me feeling nostalgic for a homeland I had never lived in. Here, I devoured one too many mochas whose rich and chocolatey flavour always filled me with comfort and gladness. This café also saw the revival of this blog.
A few minutes from these cafes lay the beautiful spectacle that was Bole Hill. I had first visited the spot over two years prior with my best friend from university who had settled down in Sheffield. That first time, I remember being awestruck by the gorgeous landscape that lay across from Bole Hill. Those who traversed the path of its top-most tier, would find it difficult not to stop and take in the breathtaking view it offered of the North-West of Sheffield – nestled in a valley with the rolling green hills of the Peak District behind it. I count myself blessed to have had the chance to live only minutes away from this place, and to have spent time here watching sunsets during the summer and fireworks on bonfire night, journaling during moments of solitude, enjoying picnics with friends, and experiencing God’s presence through His creation.
During one of the last walks I took in the area surrounding this house, I remember thinking to myself ‘this feels like a little piece of heaven’ as I saw mothers cooing at their toddlers while pushing them in strollers, friends charity shopping with coffees in hand, and people coming out of the local bakery with freshly-baked loaves of bread and pastries. In this state, one could almost picture this suburban high street as being part of a television set, missing only a camera crew and some ambient background music.
Although I will never be able to replace the experiences that shaped this unique period of my life, I hope to God that I get to experience another little piece of heaven in the next place I go. And again. And again.
A dash of Tash 
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