Moving houses has never been my favourite job. One, they are utterly hectic. Two, I feel extremely sad when I leave a place that has been a home for me for sometime. And three, because it’s the time when my friends complain a lot.
They say, I have way too much stuff to carry around. But, c’mon, I am a girl, I am supposed to have stuff.
Anyway, today I was cleaning up the attic, and throwing stuff either into bin bags or into boxes and wheelies bags. This exactly is the part I hate about moving, This digging out of stuff that transports you back to the old times and gets you real low.
I found the note pad that Krishanth had given me to make notes for my dissertation. It was apparently his lucky note book that got him through his under grad and MSc dissertation. I found the hand bands we were given for the Traffic Light party we went for after our second term exams. I found the small black wallet I used when I lived lived on campus, and sitting inside it was my laundry card (and I know I still have 5 quid on it). In a bag (that was a bad impulse purchase and thus spent it’s whole life buried deep under old clothes) I found torn pages of the Sun4U catalogues. I found the small envelope that had the dried flowers that Bharath had picked for me from random gardens just because I said they looked pretty. I found a card that Mirrin had hand made for my birthday which said- “I know we have not known each other for too long but hell we are closer that chuddie-buddies”.
I had to take a break from it all. As I sat on the low bed of the attic and a tear tickled down my cheek, I was left wondering how I reached here. When did life get so complicated?