The kitchen in my flat came with white cupboards, a bright ceiling light, and no evidence that anyone had ever enjoyed standing in it. It was perfectly functional and completely uninviting.
I started with a lamp that gives off the sort of light that makes chopping an onion feel like an evening activity. Then I added a rail for the utensils I reach for every day.
The final change was a shelf for three mugs, a jar of wooden spoons, and the bowl my grandmother used for mixing cakes. None of it is permanent, but all of it feels like me.
Rental living asks you to be creative with the parts you can change. I am learning that temporary does not have to mean impersonal.