There's no escaping
Krawi
at
12:20 AM
My room was at its messiest state last week. I was lazily basking in the change, savoring the sweet rebellion against the compulsive reality and proving that I can live like a pig after all, if only for a few days. My things were left in disarray because I kept forgetting to buy the boxes I kept promising to buy so that I can finally snuff my stuff in, so that I can free my room (and myself) of the clutter, and move on.
But then I realized I'm just afraid. Afraid to accept the fact that I'm leaving soon. I'm more than happy to move on and is in fact looking forward to it. But what scares me is that there's nothing on the map that says where to, nothing on my planner that reveals my next stop. I'm stuck in the middle of Bum Island and it feels like looking at a number of passing ferry boats but I can't quite figure out where to hop on.
Cleaning does crazy things to a person. Especially when you know you're rearranging a place for the last time. So far, I've had two big boxes full of clothes and sentimental litters that I know I can do away with if not for the memories attached to them. I'm thinking of selling my blue Orocan and my His Dark Materials trilogy. I'm thinking of a lot of things, of wasted time and precious moments, of which road to take and what plans to make, of the pictures that I took - of the room and myself - and the promises that are yet to be fulfilled. I am sure as hell gonna miss that room, the dorm, and the close friends that I've woven memory blankets with.
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