I’ve just returned from an amazing journey through Central Europe but another daunting task awaits in Manchester.
I need to pack up my room and shift out since my contract ends on 20 June.
I’ve been at it for the past couple of hours and I’ve got to be honest – I’ve been dragging my feet.
It’s amazing how much stuff gets accumulated over time. The amount of shawls, shoes and bags I have has doubled in the 6 months I’m here (which is a problem in itself cos my luggage allowance remains the same) but what really struck me was how much meaning and memories gets hooked onto material things.
A room is a room, a bed is a bed, a noticeboard is a noticeboard – all until you start to pin memories and feelings to it. Memories make objects come alive. The object gets a new identity, a soul almost. It ceases to simply be a thing but becomes something of significance, something that has added value to your understanding of the world around you.
Perhaps that’s why dismantling a room can be such a traumatic experience. You start to realise that everything works as a cohesive whole, that pulling things down means you’re ripping apart what used to make sense. You’re forced to realise that everything is just a matter of perspective. The end becomes a tangible reality you can’t elude from any longer.
But it also means that you get to see things as it is. You make your own meaning. And with that, the process will never cease. You can constantly make meanings with new things, new situations, new people. You’re going to be alright.
Everything that has built up over the past 6 months will forever remain a part of me. Nobody can take away these memories. I’m going to be alright.