Moving to a new apartment is a task. Right from packing up the smallest things you own to the biggest things your apartment owner does not know he owns, the process of packing in itself is an ordeal.
For me, however, the ordeal was more emotional than physical.
Moving out on my own was a decision I made a year back. I moved into this cosy, little nest like place sometime soon… And to my subconscious surprise, a new life had begun. I was liberated. Mostly off the awkward inhibitions one would have about the big, bad world out there. Notwithstanding of course that, I was part of it now.
And now, as I am packed once again and look around this place, devoid of my belongings, I feel strange. These mixed bittersweet memories rush through my veins as my eyes wander through the corners of the apartment.
This place had changed me. And I had changed this place.
I guess, most people, will believe there is a little bit of us in everything we leave. Same is the case with people. I let go of a large number of people from my life in the last year. Each of them has moved on in their life and yet, they did leave a little bit of themselves in me when they left.
So, as I close the corridors of this place and handover my last set of keys, I hope that this place holds a bit of me in itself. The walls might be repainted, but it would still hold my memories of leaning on it while it poured outside. The furniture may be refurbished, but it would still hold my sleepy Saturday stretches. And most of all, everything will be cleaned up to look like new, but it will still hold a little of the old me in its corridors.
Until then. Life beckons at yet another place.