packing.

bwrme suitcase briefcase vector art 1

I hate packing. To be more exact, I whole-heartily, physically, and emotionally hate packing.

There’s few time I have to pack, like big packing, not packing for a short trip. First time was when I have to go to college. I honestly feel nothing sad or worried about it. Live in a different city (which actually just 2+ hours drive) from my family was not a big deal for me at the time. So while my family being worried that the youngest one away from them, I embark on my own adventure.

Second time was that time when I move out from my 1st dorm to the last dorm* (because my faculty building moved to the main campus) and from the last dorm to my current place.

I remember on the last day of packing from my 1st dorm, me and my roommate spent the packing day while talking about our memories of the place, the people (my other roommate), and the ghosts in the bathroom, also my doppelganger (oh yeah, we have those) that scare the housekeeper. Before she have to go, she treat me our favourite ice chocolate from our favourite place. The rush of memories from the past year living with my housemates accompany my trip home which might made me look like a crazy person because I was either smiling or brimming with tears in a seat next to the bus window. I hope there’s no one in that bus knew me.

In my last dorm, I ask a friend of mine who happens to be my housemate-slash-classmate from the same major to accompany me while I’m packing, because I know that I can’t do this alone and I was right, again I shed a little tiny tears on my way home.

The third time was… when I have to move on from my past.

Welp, it’s getting dark.

Packing means that you have to pick things you really need, things you need but you actually don’t have to pack it, and things you want to bring with you but you really shouldn’t because you just have a small suitcase and a small amount of time.

A small suitcase that you have to carry all your life and you have to choose wisely of what you’re going to put in there.

How in the world people move on from memories that was precious to them but at the same time pricking their heart like cactus thorns behind their back?

How did one person learn from their past without harming themselves or other people?

I shouldn’t have drink coffee ever again. The coffee was to dark, like the thoughts on my brain.

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