Moving out

It’s 8:53 AM on Monday morning, August 15, 2022. I have to move out of my little studio by noon. That’s 3 hours and 7 minutes to go. 3 hours and 7 minutes until this little studio apartment is no longer my home. It’s breaking my heart a little. This is very personal to me, and I hope that nobody I know in real life ever reads this. My blog is supposed to be my personal diary – which is sort of ironic since I post things up here for the world to read. But to be honest, this is just my way of documenting things for myself. I don’t write these to make a show of it or reveal myself to the world. This is my way of being vulnerable to myself, and I always dislike it when people I know read my blog.

But anyways, here goes. This was home for a year. Nearly a year. It would have been exactly one year in five days. One year of this little box being my home. My first ever home that was only my own.

I realised something as I was preparing to move out, clearing my belongings and cleaning. I realised that I was undoing one year’s worth of a life lived here. As I took down sticky hooks, emptied my closet, and removed my food from the cabinets, I realised that I was undoing myself from these walls and from this home. I’m erasing myself as I prepare to move out. It’s like I was never here, and this place is ready for the next person to call their home. Never again am I going to be able to come home after a long day, drop my backpack on the couch and sit down next to it while I take my shoes off. Never again am I going to be able to see the colours of the sunset exactly as they are from my windows. Never again am I going to be able to switch on my lamp, its soft orange flooding the room during the winter nights. Never again am I going to be able to go downstairs to work or take cold showers in my own bathroom. Never again am I going to be able to go to the grocery stores close by only to come back home and haul everything into my fridge and shelves. I’m undoing myself from this place. The bed is like I never slept in it, the couch is like I never meditated on it, and the windows are like I’ve never looked out of them. This place will forget me soon. It will forget the smell of my Indian food wafting within its walls, the sound of my music playing in the shower and the gratitude I gave to it every single day. It will forget me as I fade from its vicinity. All this little studio knows is what’s within its walls, and I’m within its walls no longer. I’m gone soon.

And that’s sad. It’s really sad.


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