Today is meant for packing, except I’m a terrible early packer. Last minute is the best way to roll, but this year Zsolt and I will be moving across the Atlantic at some point (whenever the permit is granted . . .), meaning now would be a great time to take the essentials: wedding photos, breakables, sentimental items I’d hate to lose. All that good stuff.
So far the following has been packed:
DVDs I’ve borrowed and need to return to my parents
My wedding shall
Fake hair and boob
Post card collection (once belonging to my great grandmother)
Miska (our man-jug we bought in Budapest during a snowstorm last Christmas)
Our ‘home’ (a paper collage made during the marriage course)
. . .
But looking around our apartment, I don’t really feel like packing the rest of it. It’s hard to imagine the transfer of objects into a new environment. When we finally sort out the international move and pack all the boxes, I bet about half our stuff, if not more, will be left behind; from outdated magazines to little-worn clothing, books now unwanted, tip collected shelving, food that’ll expire, and even the couch – loved though it is – not being worth the cost of shipping.
It’s weird. The past 4.5 years in England we’ve been building a nest, and once we move that nest will be picked apart. Mind you, we arrived here with only three suitcases between us, so maybe it’s fitting to leave with a similar amount (plus the boxes shipped by boat). Our first night in England (back in our previous apartment) dinner was served directly from the one pot I’d ‘borrowed’ from my mother and we slept on jackets spread across a bare mattress. We had airline cups and take away cutlery. I remember feeling so damn proud once we’d finally bought spices and arranged them in the kitchen cupboard.
There is something very sad about moving, yet . . . something wonderful about a new home. Packing this weekend gives just a peek of that transition.
Change is quickly coming – I could do with a little change, so long as it’s awesome. And Canada is awesome.