Moving has always been second nature to me. You pack your bags, get on a plane and settle into an unfamiliar place. Everything is new: the people, the language, the culture, the surroundings. Moving to a new place can be a shock to some, but it’s something I’ve gotten used to. For me, life is a constant change of place. It was always a challenge adapting to a new culture, but the experience you gain is definitely worthwhile.
Moving also means leaving friends and family. Saying goodbye has also become a habit. They slip out of the mouth like water, as you see people and a string of voices fade in and out of your life. It’s always hard to see your loved ones go, and it gets harder every time.
I’ve moved to Paris recently because I’m going on a year abroad, and it counts as starting over. Also, this means packing and bringing lots of luggage. I’ve gotten so bad at keeping my things to a minimum. It’s funny how life can be compacted into a couple of suitcases. When you start moving out, you notice the amount of stuff that you have but don’t actually need. Tons of stuff gets thrown away or given to charity, unused. You learn to get rid of the remnants of yourself that were left behind. I look at old clothes just as if they were a part of myself, a younger version of myself from a distant past. I found clothes that reminded me of who I used to be a very long time ago, just a 14-year old who wished she was older so she could be a confident, successful and independent woman. There is something special about clothing, and it’s that it holds something sacred. It brings back a story.
Here’s to the future.