Times like this always makes me mellow. Well yea I’m a melancholic, of course. But there’s this distinct sadness that comes every time I pack to move.
It’s not the packing thing…in fact, I love to pack and travel. I love to pack some of my things and plan how I’m gonna use all of it. What clothes I’ll wear on that particular day. Will I need an extra pair of shoes? Which bag I’m going to bring? And also the excitement of squeezing them all together in smallest luggage possible. Whether it’s just a night with friends or going somewhere for a week, I love to pack.
I just hate it when I have to pack ALL of my things and stuffed them to boxes. I hate to see empty wardrobe, empty shelves, and everything is just missing. Like my bags, my books, and lance. I just hate it when my things aren’t in their place.
I don’t have a home. Here, I keep moving. I lost count already. Back in Indo, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. They took the liberty to move my things and modify my room after a couple of years. Now it felt empty. My room, which I even unofficially named santiago, is not my room anymore. It became something else. My study room, it’s now full of my sister’s posters (of Korean boybands. eugh). It doesn’t feel like home, wherever it is.