The lucky one

When I first moved into my home, I couldn't believe I got to live in the front room.

A sliding window/door that opened out onto the ocean. In my nook I could people watch, and people always wanted to join. 

I was the luckiest girl alive.

My housemate Estée had the back room with a small window that overlooked the verandah and an overgrown vege patch. It was a lot more hidden, a lot more humble. She preferred this. 

Whenever we walked together, Estée would prefer to walk in the suburbs, away from the ocean, away from the hum drum of people. A lot more hidden, a lot more humble. 

I didn't understand Estée at the time. 

A whirlwind later, Estée moved out and I asked to move into that back room. It took some time, but I understand her now. She was the lucky one.

And as I reflect on all this, walking the suburbs behind my house, I realise that I am now the lucky one.