If I could design my life my own way...

I'd live out of a suitcase. Everything I need will be able to fit in a medium-sized backpack - the one that starts off as a carryon and ends the trip as a checkin because of all the gifts and memories and random additions. Or, better yet - starts off as a checkin and ends as a carryon because all the gifts and memories and random stuff would have been given away.

In it will be a few choice clothes, some reading material, snacks, a scrapbook journal, a Tablet PC, a camera, a music player, a small bag with glue and scissors and scraps of art material, a bag of lucky charms. One me; a phone, a pendrive, a wallet with ID and enough money to get by and donate, and a secret message from a secret friend. My passport follows me at all times; in an ideal life, I am never in need of a visa. Somewhere on me is a ticket to somewhere out there.

I do have property; an apartment with a kitchen, one bedroom, two bathrooms - one public one private - and a hall. It is semi-secret: semi because some people know about it, secret because not everyone that want to does.

The hall is wall-to-wall shelving space, almost - there are collages and posters and painting filling the gaps. In the shelves are books and magazines and pamphlets and all sorts of random reading. Some are mine, some not - it doesn't matter. One side has a flat-screen TV with a good sound system and a player of every media known to man so far; there are DVDs and CDs and VCDs and MDs and OtherDs in another shelf. Even game consoles with games that are actually interesting. Again: some mine, some not, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter, because this hall is open to those who can find it; anyone is free to come in and explore, view and examine, borrow and lend. Things flow in and out; nothing and everything is anyone's possession. Even the WiFi streaming through each centimetre.

The kitchen, like the rest of the Hall, is composed of donated materials: food, tools, drinks. There is a notebook filled with recipies - found, discovered, contributed. Including an extensive section on mocktails - fun without drunkeness. I can actually eat the food in the kitchen and not suffer from allergic reactions.

The floor is covered with picnic mats and sleeping bags and beanbags. Anyone's welcome to camp in anytime.

My bedroom is private, my own space. Since I am not there often, it is sparse in its furnishings - a mattress, a hammock, a knick-knack table. The walls become a mini-museum, with collages and photos and postcards and memorabilia of my life so far (and will be). This is also where I charge my Tablet PC and phone at night, if I am there. There is a mini-altar on one corner, a stick of incense burning.

I am free to go in and out as I please. My room is locked when I'm away but the house itself remains open. Accessible to me are libraries, theatres, concert halls, classes on magic and performance and languages and anything that catches my fancy. I keep healthy through dance (and maybe the occasional swim or gymnastics lesson). My mind is alert through games and puzzles and activities. The air is fresh and clears my spirit and heart. I am never bored because I don't have the time to be bored.

My friends are all over the world and I can visit them easily - and I do so. My lover is within contact no matter where we are. I keep mainly to myself but I know I'll have people around if I need them. I am given my space when I need it and also my company when I need it. I do not feel smothered nor lonely.

I do various jobs, not because I have to but because I want to. I am onstage and backstage, on screen and behind-the-scenes. I inspire and be inspired. I create and share and innovate. I bring positive energy back to the world. I learn from experience and teach through experience. I am a citizen of nowhere and everywhere.

I have the world at my feet, yet answerable to no-one except myself.