Packing up my things

Last afternoon, I began packing up my things and putting them in boxes for when I leave. I dropped books and little trinkets into those boxes one by one. And as I did, I realised that I wasn’t just packing up my things. I was packing up my life, my childhood. 21 years of existence in one city, in one or two homes and with some wonderful friends and family.

I’m putting away everything I grew up with, the things that made me, me. And I’m going away, possibly never to come back home.

It’s really hard to do this; put my things into boxes and closing a chapter of my life. I’m excited about moving and meeting new people, building a new life. But saying goodbye to this life is hard. Extremely hard.