Moving into a house that was someone else’s is a peculiar feeling. You look at the walls, the furnitures, the floor, and bathroom, and you feel like you are living in someone else’s skin. Sometimes you are baffled by the logic of how the previous owner had placed their stuff, sometimes you see the brilliance and thought behind it.
You start to piece together what the person could be like, and how they have lived. And now you go about wondering how you meld the existing with your own. There is a sudden invasion of your belongings, and you wonder if the previous owner would have approved. There is now a need for co-existence between the past and the present. But slowly and surely, you will start removing pieces of the old and adding your own flavours.
Such is the passing of time and impermanence of life. As we ourselves move on, another owner will come in and the process will repeat. Even if the building is torn down and something else is rebuilt, the land, the space, is still loosely tied to the past. But eventually all will be slowly overwritten.
Impermanence is permanent.
My thoughts 