Yesterday I was in Trinidad soaking up the heat, trying to preserve its feel on my skin; the feeling that very hot sun gives to a woman who was returning to the other country she loves, where she lives, that was cold as fuck.
Today I am sitting in my apartment soaking up the memories, trying my best to preserve same, as I get ready to begin the daunting task of packing up and saying “goodbye” to the home I have lived in, loved in, cried in and grown-up in for the past three-plus years (oh….. and ‘moving day’ is Sunday; day-after-tomorrow-Sunday!).
I am not sure how you all view the places you live; whether for you they simply serve as a means to an end, whether you think of them as permanent or transient, or, if like me, you fall in love with each and every cranny, raise your (proverbial) leg and pissing in every nook; marking it for life! As you may now deduce, this move will be quite the toughy L
A dear friend of mine has been trying to convince me that all the changes that have been taking a number, standing in line and forcing me acknowledge their presence, is a good thing. She has been encouraging me to be brave and to be confident in the knowledge that these changes are the gateway to such amazing adventures on the flip side… “just watch”. Well, I do believe Lady L in her thinking that sometimes, many times, most times, change is indeed a good thing; oftentimes, very very necessary. I acknowledge that some of us get ‘stuck in a rut’ and the Universe then does its thing to shake us the fuck up! Absolutely. But, I’ve never considered myself one of those people that needed the good, swift kick in the ass in order to be forced to do what is needed. So, what the hell is happening here?!
Sigh. I am very sad as I sit here writing to you; struggling to contain the tears as I think and speak about giving up my home. See, because this is my home; not just an apartment or simply that place that I came to to “lay my head” at the end of the day. Oozing out of the paint that covers these walls are stories, anecdotes, laughter, tears and accomplishments. Every board on every inch of these floors is a testament to my anxiety, my victory and my survival! The air carries the love that I have given, gotten, gambled, gained.
So, as I prepare to move, I am struggling with the knowledge that no longer will I be constantly surrounded with evidence of life as I have lived it for the past few years. I am left to wonder in exactly what size of a box one purchases to lovingly and carefully pack up those emotional treasures? Am I really expected to, along with my dishes, pictures, antique boxes, shoes, clothing, knick-knacks and dresses, place these moments in a box and affix a damn label?! What should it say? “Me”?
I don’t want to leave; I admit to being a bit afraid to. Not so much of what’s on the other side of this; but simply because I am afraid the movers will forget and leave pieces of me behind. I am terrified that the new owners will then tear down the walls – unaware of their importance. Sigh. Okay… I am afraid to leave behind the ‘me’ that I now so thoroughly know and like and unsure what the new space(s) I will occupy will do to it. Here, I feel safe.
Listen, I’ve gotta go; my new adventure awaits. I am incredibly thankful for my friends who will be taking me (and my dresses) in while I begin the search for the new space that will become my home. As I pack (yup, not a thing is packed yet; feel free to offer help), I will do what I do – I will soak up the memories, I will talk and cry out loud, I will gather the experiences around me, both the good and the bad ones and ensure they are not left behind. I just remembered – I am the best box there will ever be to safely and delicately house the memories that have been created here – they’re coming with me!