The Drifting Feeling That Comes With Moving

Just before our two-year lease was up, the landlord sent a WeChat message: “Hey, Little Chen. Sorry about this — it’s not going to work for me to renew after the lease ends. Wanted to give you a heads-up. If the timing is a problem, staying an extra month or two is totally fine; I’m not in a rush. The place won’t be needed until June or July, so just do what works for you.”

Understood. Time to start looking.

When I pulled up the “Documents/Home/Housing/Rentals” folder, I counted five different addresses and ten rental contracts. A lot of drifting packed into a folder. But every new place brings new people, new stories — a new chapter, always.

I’ve thought about buying. Owning would mean stability — no more packing boxes every couple of years. But a large mortgage for a small apartment feels like the wrong trade-off, and in Beijing, where every square meter costs a fortune, renting often makes more sense. To be rigorous: if you want mountains and water, generous space, and a view, you’re looking at the sixth ring.

Finding an apartment isn’t so different from being set up on a blind date — or so I’m told. You have to know what you want before you go looking. When you’re actually viewing places, you weigh each against your requirements. In the end you settle for something that “works for you” — because the perfect place, the one that meets every criterion and fits the budget, almost never exists. Neither do perfect matches in people, I suppose.

My own requirements have shifted over the years: from renting a single room in a shared flat, to a one-bedroom, to a two-bedroom, to a three-bedroom. A bookshelf used to be enough. Then I needed a living room and a kitchen. Then a room I could call my own. Some things haven’t changed: I want a space without too much furniture — we don’t watch TV or lounge on heavy sofas, so simpler is better. I’ve always wanted a subway station within walking distance and a wet market across the street. Constant change brings constant discovery. That might be the best thing about moving so often.

“Embrace uncertainty and benefit from it” — that’s Taleb’s antifragility. And looking back, our last two moves have both turned out wonderfully.

The previous move happened because Ziroom raised our rent from ¥4,200 to ¥4,900. We decided to leave. The commute stretched from 40 to 60 minutes, which was still bearable. Once we were in, I discovered the neighborhood had a river, a park, lotus flowers in summer, beautiful sunsets — a place made for running and cycling. Many of the photos on Today Looks Like This were taken there. I photographed that neighborhood through every season, and I have memories of COVID lockdowns there too, including a memorable standoff with the building management committee. The best part: because we were all working from home, a small group of neighbors started playing basketball together, working out together.

Extended reading: A Record of Centralized Quarantine

The current place is a 70–80 minute commute. The trade-offs are worth it: there’s a bus stop at the door, the Grand Canal runs behind the compound, a wet market sits across the street, and best of all, a newly built library, museum, and art gallery are a short walk away. Most weekends I head to the library to read, watch something, daydream, and catch the sunset. I didn’t know any of this before I moved in. That’s the thing about moving — the good surprises only reveal themselves after you arrive.

Of course, unpleasant surprises happen too. In 2020, I moved into what I can only describe as a windowless dungeon — a living room with no natural light and, worse, cockroaches. That was the only move I’ve genuinely regretted. In hindsight, the warning signs were there: I viewed the apartment at night, and got too excited about a one-bedroom that had a subway station literally on the other side of the front door. After the lease ended, I scrubbed every item before it crossed the threshold of the new place; anything that could go, went. No cockroaches since.

Does all of this feel like drifting? Honestly, sometimes. Moving is draining. Each new place requires rebuilding familiarity from scratch — learning the layout, earning the trust of the security guards and building managers. But if you never have the chance to move, staying put is also a valid choice. Neither is better or worse. Each is just a new beginning.

Appendix: A friend, @Na Zhang, shared these apartment-viewing tips with me years ago — still useful today.

1. Test every appliance, the gas stove, and every light while you’re viewing. Anything that needs replacing or cleaning, negotiate into the deal upfront.
2. Check doors and windows: does the security door lock automatically? Are the window screens intact? Can the windows be locked?
3. Check kitchen pipes and drains for leaks. Test the toilet flush.
4. If there’s a mattress, test the firmness and check the dimensions against your bedding.
5. Ask which internet service provider is in the building — ideally one you already use.
6. Close all doors and windows: any strange smells? Good soundproofing?
7. Open every cabinet and drawer in the kitchen and bathroom. Check for cockroaches.
8. Test the wall outlets.
9. Opt for a gas water heater over electric; a gas stove over an induction cooktop.

@Dahua also recently shared a booklet: City Rental Guide. I read it and reformatted it into an e-book. The overall framework is solid — especially useful for first-time renters who want a quick orientation. It would be even better with scenario-specific checklists: a kitchen checklist, a bedroom checklist, a contract-signing checklist, and so on.

Today is the Spring Equinox — equal parts day and night, plants greening, flowers opening. A good day to go outside and photograph something. March’s small gift this year: it actually snowed on the 16th, making up for Beijing’s snowless winter in 2024.

Extended reading: Moving Diary, 2020