I haven’t been in Shanghai that long—just over three years—but in that time I’ve already moved six times, including once again just yesterday.

Moving is troublesome no matter how you look at it. That’s just part of being a working renter: never quite settled, always searching for the next place, checking listings, going to view apartments, comparing options, making a decision, and then packing up all over again.

Looking back on all those moves, a few memories stand out.

When I first arrived in Shanghai, I stayed with my uncle. I had come for job interviews and wasn’t even sure whether I’d find work, so living at his place was just a temporary arrangement. After a week of interviews, I landed my first job in the city—still the only formal full-time job I’ve had here.

My uncle lived in Qingpu, while my office was in Pudong. The commute took four hours a day. After my first week at work, I knew I had to move.

At that point, my priorities were simple: cheap rent, an easier commute, and saving money. Everything else came second. That first move was easy enough. It was summer, I didn’t own much, and everything fit into a single suitcase.

The place I rented was a tiny partitioned room. On workdays it was manageable because I spent most of the day in the office, but weekends were miserable in the summer heat. I would actually hide out at the office on weekends just for the air conditioning. Winter brought a different kind of misery: hot water for showers was often unavailable, and if you waited too long, someone else in the shared apartment would get there first. That’s what shared living was like. After a while, I got used to it. Sometimes I just woke up early to shower before everyone else.

After living there for more than half a year, I moved in with a coworker, Jun. He had been in Shanghai for several years already and was renting a one-bedroom apartment. He was also an excellent cook. Back then I didn’t know how to cook at all, so I started learning from him.

Jun’s knife skills were especially impressive. He could slice potatoes into fine shreds quickly and neatly. At first, he cooked and I washed the dishes. Later on, I learned how to make proper stir-fries myself. On weekends we would flip through cookbooks and figure out what dishes to make or what soup to simmer. That was also the period when I gained weight the fastest. Besides daily life, Jun helped me a lot at work too.

For various reasons, we ended up moving apart after another half year or so. I didn’t go far—just to another place on the same street. By then the company had also relocated, and getting around by metro had become much more convenient, so I chose a place close to a station. You could walk downstairs and reach the metro in just a few steps.

That was my third place in Shanghai: a two-bedroom apartment that had been divided up, with me taking the second bedroom. It had air conditioning, which was a plus, but the room faced north and never got any sunlight. Another annoyance was the factory next door. On weekends, if I wanted to sleep in, there would be some noise coming from it. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to be irritating. I stayed there another six months before the landlord decided to take the apartment back, which forced me into my fourth move.

The fourth place was on the ground floor, so at least I no longer had to climb stairs every day. It was still a north-facing second bedroom, and this time there was no air conditioner. I got through the summer with nothing but a small fan. Heat has never bothered me that much, though—even in the hottest weather, I preferred setting the fan on a timer instead of leaving it on all night. If I woke up from the heat, I’d just turn it back on for another timed stretch.

This was also the place I stayed the longest: a year and a half. Its biggest drawback was the dampness that came with being on the ground floor. Even though the room still faced north, drying clothes was actually very convenient because there was a large open area right outside for hanging laundry. I probably dried things more regularly there than anywhere else I’ve lived. The other issue was traffic noise. Since the apartment was close to the road, I couldn’t sleep well at first, but after about a week I adapted.

By the fifth move, I had finally upgraded to a south-facing master bedroom. Before moving in, I made a point of checking out the neighborhood in advance—food options, everyday conveniences, and the general living environment. That place was much quieter, and I got along well with the roommates. I stayed there for more than half a year too.

The most recent move was my sixth, and I ended up back in the same residential complex as the fourth place. This time, though, it was a south-facing master bedroom again. After having lived in north-facing rooms for so long, I honestly don’t want to go back. The new room also comes with a private bathroom, so in terms of living conditions, things have clearly improved.

Looking across all these moves, the change is pretty obvious. At the beginning, any place that was livable was good enough. Now I have at least a few real standards. In its own way, that feels like a record of progress.

Moving is easy. Finding a place that actually feels good to live in is not. So when you do find one, you learn to appreciate it.