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Quote by I.M. Millennial

“The house is in moderate condition, but when we do the usual dance of exploring the price range, the agent clarifies that the owner has high expectations. The owner interjects and I hear the full story from the man himself. ‘My house has been valued at a million,’ he says with a grin. ‘Though I’ve been told it might be worth more than that. Would you believe it only cost me a year’s income back in the eighties? Had three children and never had to worry about money or a place to live. And now the value of it just keeps going up! It’s unbelievable what people have to pay for houses these days. Never would have imagined it.’ He cackles at this, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.”

Quote by I.M. Millennial

Book:A Year in Boomertown: A Memoir
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A Year in Boomertown: A Memoir

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I.M. Millennial

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“Land is expensive,’ my mother says with a shrug. ‘We built most of our first house ourselves from a kit set. You should do the same. Or you could live in a caravan for a while.’ Like most people our age, we could live in a caravan for several years and still not afford to buy land in a location near where we could find work. And even if we were to buy land, new building regulations and ever stricter environmental laws make it near impossible for anyone to build a house themselves, let alone live in a caravan while doing so. I know someone who tried living in a tiny home on her own land and lasted three months before the Boomer neighbours on each side of her property reported her to the council. She received a fine and was evicted from her own patch. Whatever property ladder existed before has been long ago pulled up by the Boomers and the Trailers who trail behind them.”

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Book:A Year in Boomertown: A Memoir
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“Bailey, Ace and I continue to look for a place to live, and, it would seem, so is everyone else. In fact, word around Eden Perch is that a prosperous millennial woman from Boomer City has expressed interest in the scrubby lot that sits behind my parents’ home. According to my mother’s contact, the woman is not only interested in purchasing the land but also in building. With this revelation, the whole suburb is in an uproar. None of the other residents of Eden Perch want to buy the plot, but they don’t want anyone else to have it either. And now that someone else has shown interest, every objection comes crawling up to meet the challenge.”

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Book:A Year in Boomertown: A Memoir
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“I have never returned to this lost paradise. Sometimes I am struck with the sudden desire to go to the Gare de lest, board the Orient Express, and retrace the route between Innsbruck and Plumeshof. As I so often saw other more or less close friends of the Welser family do, I fantasize about showing up without warning in the pretty meadow surrounded by fir trees and making the climb to the house while thinking only of Aunt Heidi, who has long since gone the to join her two older sons and their father in heaven. I would concentrate on her so strongly that I would eventually see her again on the doorstep, hastily drying her flour-covered hands in her apron; her opal eyes would brighten when she saw me. She would spread her arms while joyfully shouting: "Franziska!" and I would run to her calling back, "Aunt Heidi, Aunt Heidi!" Kurt's Kurt's contagious laughter would echo in the distance. Lilo, smiling, would be hanging out the laundry. A lifetime of love would still be stretching out before them. A delicious aroma of pancakes would be drifting in the air ... The large earthenware oven, the eiderdown quilts, the painted wooden chairs with a little heart carved in them like the shutters ... nothing would have changed.”

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Book:The Despair of Monkeys and Other Trifles: A Memoir by Françoise Hardy
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“Laughing with blood relatives amidst memorable melodies in the background, styrofoam plate in hand, topped with foods that restaurants can’t duplicate, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Staring at an unbelievable sunrise from a balcony villa in Tanzania, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Recognized and awarded for notable news journalism, a few semesters away from achieving a prestigious degree decorated with promised opportunities, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Hoping quietly for the best, to “win my husband over” with traditional submission, more frequent sex, and minimized speech, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Walking down a dusty Egyptian street filled with the welcoming laughter of carefree children, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Sitting in a church pew notating another good message, clapping to some of my favorite songs, and then exiting to talk with familiar faces, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Communing with those who know who the “real chosen” are, beholding their unknown names unmasked, and secret knowledges revealed to ponder incessantly, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Placed underneath the wanting body of a rare man who showed me unprecedented love, it hit me: I don’t belong here. My soul. My mind. My body. Each malnourished. My community. My life purpose. Both misplaced. All starving for home. So, I moved. Not to what looks and feels good for them, but to what”

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Author:Zara Hairston
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“Laughing with blood relatives amidst memorable melodies in the background, styrofoam plate in hand, topped with foods that restaurants can’t duplicate, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Staring at an unbelievable sunrise from a balcony villa in Tanzania, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Hoping quietly for the best, to “win my husband over” with traditional submission, more frequent sex, and minimized speech, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Walking down a dusty Egyptian street filled with the welcoming laughter of carefree children, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Sitting in a church pew notating another good message, clapping to some of my favorite songs, and then exiting to talk with familiar faces, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Communing with those who know who the “real chosen” are, beholding their unknown names unmasked, and secret knowledges revealed to ponder incessantly, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Placed underneath the wanting body of a rare man who showed me unprecedented love, it hit me: I don’t belong here. My soul. My mind. My body. Each malnourished. My community. My life purpose. Both misplaced. All starving for home. So, I moved. Not to what looks and feels good for them, but to what”

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Author:Zara Hairston
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