In these three years alone, I’ve literally had to pack and move ten times in total, or more.
Whether it’s shifting from one house to another, traveling back and forth between countries and continents, it’s really tiring having to pack and unpack all the time.
Belongings were permanent but everything else was temporary.
The room I was in, the bed I slept in, the blanket that kept me warm, the curtain I pulled back to let the sun in, the window I looked out from, the closet that held my clothing, the table that was crammed with my miscellaneous mess, the mirror I saw my reflection in, and many more temporaries.
Some things, I just kept in my luggage. There was no point taking them out. Or there was just no space. Like now.
For almost five months now, my clothes have been squeezed into a luggage. I haven’t fully unpacked since I got to Seattle. And it’s a good thing. In the coming week it’s moving time, again.
I won’t say it’s going to be permanent but even though I hate the thought of packing and unpacking all the time, I hate the thought of being stuck at one place even more.