Apartments & Soulmates

At certain moments in my life, whenever the number in my bank account crosses some invisible threshold, I panic. Not because I’m afraid of losing it—but because I feel like money sitting still is fragile. Exposed. Temporary. And when the world feels unstable, I want that value translated into something solid. Something that lasts. For me, that “something” has twice taken the form of real estate.

The first time was in 2019, when I bought property from my dad. The second time happened recently—and that’s where this story really begins.

For years, I’d been circling the idea of buying an apartment. Which city? Which neighborhood? How much was I really willing to commit? Eventually, I landed on the city where I was born. It felt obvious in hindsight, but it took some hesitation to arrive there.

Once I finally had enough money, I realized something important: the internet wasn’t going to give me the best answers. So instead of scrolling listings, I walked the city. I looked for handwritten sale signs, called numbers late at night, took photos, and filtered opportunities the slow way. The way people used to do it.

Most options were out of budget. Some weren’t even close. But there’s a principle in manifestation that stuck with me throughout the process: allow yourself to have. You don’t actually know how things will resolve themselves in the end.

One deal stood out. It was slightly above my budget, so I dismissed it. Later, I mentioned it to my dad. The moment I told him the location, he said it was a perfect deal. That alone made me pause.

We met the seller. He had an Iraqi accent. Coincidentally, my dad’s first real estate deal—outside of family—had also been with an Iraqi man. They bonded instantly. Being both doctors. Same energy. That was the first synchronicity my mind latched onto.

From there, they started stacking up.

I won’t list them all. Anyone who’s experienced synchronicities knows how quickly one turns into ten, then into a hundred. And once that happens, doubt creeps in. If this deal falls through, what do all those confirmations mean? Were they pointing somewhere else? Or nowhere at all?

The seller said something that stuck with me: choosing your first apartment is more important than choosing your wife. Bold statement. But he wasn’t a salesman. He didn’t push. In fact, he barely tried to sell at all. There were strengths to the apartment he never even mentioned. It felt like he didn’t need the deal.

That alone changed my posture. If I hadn’t gone back to him—if I hadn’t talked to my dad—I would’ve never discovered the price was negotiable.

Another strange layer: the apartment was named after the Tower of Babylon. The seller was into symbolism, history, language. Babylon, collapse through language, the limits of words, the left hemisphere of the brain. I won’t go deep into it here.

Eventually, we each named a price and stopped talking.

That’s when the real tension started.

I didn’t want to repeat the search process. Riding around the city again. Turning my neck every time I saw a phone number scribbled on a wall. Part of me wondered if all those synchronicities were just my mind trying to justify not wanting to do the hard part again.

So I forced myself to do it anyway.

I explored other areas of the city—places I assumed wouldn’t have good deals. And that’s where the best alternatives showed up. Not online. Not listed. Just real conversations with people who noticed me looking and decided to show me what they had.

None of the final contenders were apartments I’d seen on the internet over the past few years. Real life and online listings aren’t the same game.

After doing that extra work, something clicked. Objectively—without involving synchronicities—the original deal was genuinely good. I just couldn’t see it until I had real data to compare it against.

So I went back and renegotiated.

And yes, I bought the apartment from the Iraqi seller.

Throughout this process, I realized something important: synchronicities aren’t a replacement for objectivity. They don’t excuse you from doing the work. They might point you in a direction, but you still have to test reality.

Another realization came from spirituality and manifestation culture itself. We often think money is the main obstacle—but it’s rarely the only one. Paperwork, delays, taxes, notaries, logistics. Even after everything works out, there are infinite ways things could still go wrong.

Owning something doesn’t guarantee peace.

That understanding softened my attachment to the outcome. Over time, I became genuinely grateful for the house I’m still living in with my parents. There’s a lot less pressure online now, messages like: leave at 18 or you’re failing. That mindset creates resentment—and resentment is a terrible place to manifest from.

If you’re frustrated with your current living situation, you can even use that frustration creatively. Visualize the problems of the next place. Bills. Internet issues. Maintenance. Paperwork. Sometimes imagining those annoyances removes the desperation—and desperation is usually what blocks things.

Ironically, the final piece fell into place without effort. The apartment was still slightly out of budget, but my brother covered the taxes as a gift. Something I hadn’t planned for. Something I didn’t calculate.

---

What this experience taught me is simple, even if the process wasn’t.

Money isn’t the whole story. Synchronicities aren’t lies—but they aren’t absolutes either. Fear often disguises itself as specificity. And sometimes, what looks like destiny only becomes clear after you’re willing to repeat the work you’re trying to avoid.

Language itself has limits. I talk about these things with words, but meaning often lives beyond them. That’s why some speakers—like Alan Watts—can say very little and still communicate everything.

This story isn’t really about apartments.

It’s about learning when to trust signs, when to verify reality, and when to let go of the idea that certainty exists at all.