I hate packing. Who loves packing? What kind of person should you be to love packing?
It all starts with pants. Because it seems easy to go down the jeans road. Not as easy when you are a shopaholic in the past. Out of 35-20-10 pairs you still pick more than you can take. It comes down to squezzing the 6 pairs into the suitcase and leaving 4 other ones laying next to it. Who knows, if you have some extra space, you will take those golden pants too. But you won't. Won't have that space after all.
Because there are also skirts. Long and shirt, tight and flowy, bright and grey. Of course you take the grey and black ones. You have to squeeze the next year of your life in one damn suitcase. And your airline rules don't let you be creative. No more orange skirt with bright blue necklaces.
- Take at least those pink pants, - my best friend yawns while layng on my bed and observing the madness around, - you will die without some color, I know you.
- Yeah, well, easy to say - I am grumping to myself inside and look at the book pile I have ready on my table.
The wardrobe floor is evenly covered with T-shirts. Plain white ones and printed ones. Do I want to wear the "Oh shit it's Monday" phrase every week? Do I want to be that girl who wears kinda ironic shirts all the times and looks sarcastic when she actually just could not put more clothes inside because she also wanted to bring her favorite cup with her? Will people get a different impression of me judging by the amount of things my big red suitcase can fit?
I kick the pair of Nikes on my way to the kitchen. My best friend peacefully snoring in bedroom. I put the kettle on. I remember how 9 years ago I was a confused 16-year-old packing the same suitcase to go to America for one year. Remember the phrase my classmate Cody told me 6 months after I have arrived "Now you look way better than when you came in September". Duh! Because after months of rummaging through local stores I started looking like all RBHS students there.
- Actually I do not even care how many shirts I will have with me, - I keep thinking, - I just have to do more things tomorrow before throwing the bag in the trunk of the car... running to my favorite monument to say goodbye, meeting a friend for the last coffee this year, calling my dad. I can just go to bed now and to get up extra-early to get everything done in time. To meet everyone and to have a look around the city.
I know this feeling too well. I know it is not about shoving one more outfit down my bag. I lived with one small suitcase in Greece for 3 months. Did I wear at least 75% of it? Nope.
I got used to living like a snail this year. No, not slow and leaving a doubtful substance behind myself all the time, but always having my main stuff with me and living ok with this. If I managed to put one more raincoat into my bag I woud curse after about it while dragging it to the train station. Cursing because of an extra weight and for another reason: I could not put all the people and places that mattered to me in there. Mom being so philosophical about my globe-trotting and stubborness, my favorite coffee shops and baristas that kept remembering and forgetting me while changing work places, my colleagues that also changed while I switched projects, my favorite monument I stopped to pat every time I passed it, my best friends seeing my house as their house, my family, my stepsister, my acquantances... All of them were too much to put in one bag, but I think I aready had them ready inside. Always bringing around with me and adding up new people on the way. Falling in love, finding other friends and getting amazed by the new things. The main suitcase I needed was inside of me all the time: easier to carry around than to leave behind.
I came back to my room at 3 am.
Looked at my sleeping best friend and put the golden pants in the bag. Then laid down next to her and fell asleep.
I will finish packing tomorrow.
This I promise.
I will finish packing tomorrow.
This I promise.