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i was in the process of another blog when i hit
writers block just four measly sentences in.
i looked around my room.
by the way,
that's all i have at the moment -
a room.
a room i am very grateful for.
i've been feeling like such a nomad these couple of years,
always looking for somewhere new to put my stuff....
temporarily.
during that big step in my life when i called it quits to 8 years,
i realised how much stuff i had accumulated.
it was quite a significant amount.
polaroid pictures took up space, clothes took up space,
random bits and pieces took up space,
childhood/teenage memorabilia
that i brought into adulthood took up even more space.
ancient past, old past, new past cramming into my present.
when moving out of my childhood home in kam tin,
i already threw away so much of the stuff
i thought i'd keep forever.
when i was preparing to leave the UK
(again)
(for the second time in my life)
(wtf is this pattern)
i already threw away so much of the stuff
i thought i'd keep forever.
i put all the stuff i wanted to come back to in a closet,
everything else left in my drawers,
i grabbed a big black bin bag and threw everything in.
i could buy those leggings again some other time.
and seriously though,
how many notebooks does one person need?
3 suitcases, 2 backpacks later
i was at gatwick and 25kg over the baggage weight limit.
i was fucked.
the lovely staff asked me what i wanted to do,
and at that moment i knew i had to do it again.
throw away so much of the stuff
i thought i'd keep forever.
my first pair of dr. martens i bought at 16
that my dad thought were leather but were in fact latex
yet he still polished them anyway so they lost their shine
which suited me just fine - i actually liked them more that way.
my favourite military green menswear sweater,
sweatshirts, even the ones we had printed together,
maybe 2?3 pairs? of vans that i hardly ever wore too.
there were more, not just clothing that i had to reevaluate.
and to be honest,
looking back
i don't even remember most of the stuff that i packed
but i scooped them all up as one big human claw,
and chucked them all into the airport bin.
why did i choose to take those items with me in the first place?
it was a case of 'would you rather' and only up until the moment
when you had someone pointing a gun to your head,
or more so the question of
"are you willing to pay £2000 for all your excess baggage?"
do you finally force yourself to dig deep into your head, heart
and in this case, your luggage
to realise that it really was what it was -
excess baggage.
after repeatedly telling every staff member i met that
'i just want to go home'
i was finally on the plane,
head, heart and suitcase all significantly lighter.
now i'm here.
4 months later.
i looked around my room.
and goddamnit,
where the fuck did all this new stuff come from?
i already threw away so much of the stuff
i thought i'd keep forever.
.
.
.
/
this blog reminds me of my forever ongoing short story
"There was not much left of her possessions or her belongings.
Not much to posses and not much to belong to."
