Monday, September 8, 2008

Straight Out of A Suitcase

In the last 2 years I have packed up my life and moved at least 5 times.

First, I moved out of my Ma's house into a one-room rental that used to be the maid's quarters at my ex-boyfriend's aunt's house. It was convenient -- for us. but was really not practical, even with the low rent. It was farther from the office than Ma's, and it was way too small.

So I moved into a 1-bedroom condo unit which was 10 minutes away from the office. I loved it! The only problem was the lack of parking spaces for guests, which I didn't mind at all. It's not like I get a lot of visitors, anyway.

Finally, I felt I had my own space -- private, sacred. I was so excited to fill it up with furniture. I got as far as getting a dining table-cum-space divider, 2 bar stools, a DVD/book rack and a divine couch before I had to give up my small heaven to move to Bacolod. I had the condo for a grand total of 3 months.

So off to Bacolod, where I stayed in 3 different places -- an apartment, a 2-room house, and a studio. All in all, a total of 16 months. Next stop, Cebu -- where I opted for a fully-furnished flat so I didn't have to go through the hassle (and expense) of buying new stuff again only to dispose of them after a year... or so.

Everytime I move I find that I have to leave some things behind. It's inevitable. There's just no room in the suitcase, not enough balikbayan boxes. There were too much stuff, stuff I can live without, stuff that are unimportant, or stuff that I would rather sell or give away.

At the time, I didn't mind getting rid of them. But then I would get to my new place, and would suddenly need to re-read that book I left with a friend; or find that I had left behind my flat iron (which ironically enough, does not come with my newly-"furnished" pad); or finally find that perfect dress to match my white go-go boots that I threw out.

It's the same every time. I can't fit all of my life in my suitcases, and I have to pick which memories, which dreams, which life lessons I take with me. Pick which ones to leave behind, to give away, or to toss out.

I wonder if, with every move, I shed a layer of me with the rest of my stuff -- all the emotions and memories that come with it. I wonder if, in my attempt to avoid "excess baggage", I am ridding myself of things that I might eventually miss, and will be unable to recover or replace. I wonder what, at the end of my journey, will be left of me then.

1 side-notes:

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