There are still unpacked boxes in the corner. The Internet, well, it’s a bit dodgy. But I do, for the very first time have my own little space away from the world– my new office.

Two globes (I love and collect globes) sit on my desk. One, a tiny glass model that my parents owned for years; the other, a gift from my mother to help me choose my next destination (and because I’m really bad at geography). I have a small treasure chest made of sandalwood, and a mini-Buddha, whose tummy I routinely rub for good luck.

For the first time in years, I have a dedicated landline (I largely dislike cellphones, unless they’re iPhones), a bed for those nights that I will no doubt be spending here, and a beautiful bamboo chair for reading in. My parents have, along with everything else that they’ve done, bought me lovely brown curtains and given me a desk they had custom-made years ago that I have loved since I was a child.

My books finally have a home.

After almost seven years of working out of my bed, I’m thrilled, excited, and a little bit giddy at having an exclusive space for work. Ever since I became a journalist, I’ve worked out of (and lived in) spaces that barely had room for two people to stand in, let alone a desk and a workspace, so my current situation seems like extravagance.

I’m so grateful. And at long last, out of excuses for procrastination.