"All My Bags Are Packed, I'm On The Go"

We moved into our first home a day before my 27th birthday. A few boxes, some appliances, clothes, kitchenware, and just us.  As newlyweds and first-time homeowners, every purchase we made for the house was up for extensive and enthusiastic deliberation.

There wasn't much back then. Most of what we owned were wedding gifts that we cherish even now. Everything else has been a steady build-up. The transition from worn-out rental furniture to floor mattress to our first real couch felt more of an emotional investment than a utilitarian one.

This home has been witness to plenty of love and abundance, peppered with a few fights and stresses along the way. It has seen warm dinners with close friends as well as solitary nights. There have been periods of spiritual upswings and phases of disconnectedness too. Joy, laughter, banter, and the occasional temper and tears. In short, this home has been as much a partner in my life's journey as the spouse. 

I've changed homes several times in my life. To the extent that it has helped me approach any change of place with cold pragmatism. There's very little feeling. Moves have become nothing more than a massive to-do list. Another chore that must be done and over with so we can get back to routine as quickly as possible.  And frankly, the process is so cumbersome, I've never had the mind space to assess my emotional status. This time, however, it is a little different.  

Saying goodbye to this house has been overwhelming.  Letting go of my steadfast 4AM friend of 10 years has not been easy. The walls here witnessed the birth of the little one and shared our joy at each milestone. Breaking up is taking its toll.

I mean sure the list of to-dos serves as a welcome distraction. But as I walked into the empty apartment yesterday and took in the dust left behind by the movers and packers, I felt my heart drop to my stomach.  I was almost thankful I still had a few bags left to carry back. Whether that's a good thing or not though  is hard to say. For, each bag that is left behind, is an excuse to revisit the old times. Like old friends giggling over an inside joke. Only we get it- me and these bare walls.

Each visit is a punch in the gut and also a moment to feel nothing but gratitude. What an evil combination. 

I know the plaster is peeling off in corners where seepage has always been an issue. I now see the old hole in the wall that was wrongly put and hurriedly covered up all because we didn't know how to use the electric drill. There are crayon marks on the wall, greasy baby fingerprints on the window panes, a line of dust atop the thin tube light, and a mesh of wires hiding behind the TV. The curtain hook is missing a loop, the little clock has run out of battery, and a string of dainty fairy lights still clings to the wall. The baby took her first steps here  and had her first fall too.

Ten years ago, moving from a rental into our own place didn't feel like too much of emotional risk. This time however the move feels more significant. And predictably, I've been my stereotypical Cancerian self.

Supposed to be feeling excited. But it's the first space in years I've felt intricately attached to. An adhesion that won't wear off. And instead of feeling optimistic, I've been sulky, crabby, and nostalgic. Not the sort of combination you want in people around you. Hats off to everyone who has had to endure my mood swings (Can we blame it on the full moon instead?). 

Interesting isn't it, how a space can own us as much as we own it? If there's one thing this move is forcing me to learn and practice, it is detachment. The hardest thing in life is to be detached. But it can be one of the most empowering sentiments to nurture as well. 

There are moments when I find myself singing and taking in the sights and sounds of the new place. At night, the crickets here kept me company. Way past 1AM. They are different than the ones at the old place. They seem to have a lot to say.  

I know introducing myself to a new space will take some time. We need to get acquainted, share a few stories, laugh over lame jokes and learn to deal with the initial hiccups. Together. With Covid looming menacingly over our heads. 

Lock, stock, baggage and burn out, I'm kon mari-ing my way through this mountain of stuff collected over the years. Souvenirs of precious moments that have made up my journey. I know I will have to let go of some stuff. So naturally, I am being crabby, sulky, moody, and boring all at once. 

But move on we must. So I try my best and I'm hopeful of some success. As long as I remember, tomorrow is another day but today is what I have now.