#6 Dearest lovers

Skyline To by Frank Ocean is playing

I wrote this on the plane on the 1st of August, and then went on my holiday and allowed myself to fully forget all the responsibilities that I have (that I gave myself). So here I am 3 weeks later, typing up the words as I practise getting back into routine and “productivity”. I hope you’ll appreciate them the same.

I’m writing to you from the plane. Yet again, this liminal space between one place and the next offers me a piece of the present. presence that I wish to share with you.

Yesterday (31st July), upon emptying my old apartment, I stood in what was our living room and couldn’t recognise the barren walls. our live(ing) room had become the site of so many memories. heartbreaks and fights, dinners and movie nights.

my heart felt like it was breaking in my chest as I tried to say goodbye. we (my roommate and I (p.s. Charmaine I love you )) had made this place our home. and to see it desolate and without any traces of our existence (except for some stains on the wall that the landlords complained incessantly about) brought tears to my eyes.

Change is difficult for me, and moving house has to be one of the biggest adjustments to make (moving countries aside), I wasn’t ready to leave. this was my first apartment out of university and i poured my heart and soul into it. seeing a room that we filled with laughter, gifts, tears, smells of delicious meals, sweet treats and never-ending talks about politics… empty, had me sobbing on the windowsill (in my moment of privacy before the landlords made it up the stairs)

I must admit, packing, storing and transporting your belongings forces you to take account of what you have in stock.

14 scarfs. 10 sweatshirts. 8 pairs of shoes. 5 coats. 4 paintings. 3 records. 1 mattress.

why do I own so many scarfs? when I was 11 I told my grandmother I loved scarfs. (a ridiculous thing for a child who grew up on the equator to say). she gifted me a new one every time she travelled somewhere new, or saw me at Christmas. what were once mere accessories and items to play dress up with, now became the difference between warmth and the freezing cold on dark winter days.

why do I own 3 records when I don’t even have a record player? at some point in time, I made it a habit to wander into thrift stores and buy whatever cover art stood out to me the most. as a way of filling up the once-white space in my room. I look at them now and almost regret my frivolous purchases as I load them into a box labelled fragile.

the mattress, which I inherited by way of subletting from a friend, is now the only thing stopping me from sleeping on the floor. yet it becomes the bane of my existence to transport down and then up 3 flights of stairs with the (now grown out) acrylic nails that inhibit me from getting a grip (literally and metaphorically).

I sit in the new apartment, my belongings in piles around me. I had once neglected the importance of shelves and closets.

When confronted by the finiteness of my material possessions, I think twice about what I own. what is mine? no matter how many scarves or sweatshirts I have, for some reason, I’m never warm enough. it never feels like I have enough.

(never feels like… I am enough?)

what actually belongs to me?

what pieces in my wardrobe or items in my room truly cultivate a sense of belonging?

21 books. 12 crystals. 7 flavours of essential oils. 4 pillows. 2 of my mother's tea cups. 1 teddy bear.

The essential oils are a product of my dad’s labours and a sweet symphony of scents that soothe me to sleep. I know I only need one pillow but the other 3 make me feel less lonely at night. My mother's teacup reminds me that she’s probably drinking her own cup on the other side of the world. and the teddy bear I’ve had since I was 12 is my most loyal companion.

These are my things.

I shut the door behind me as I embarked on my next adventure. I keep reassuring myself that these are the only belongings that matter, the pieces of myself that I will return home to.

I walked away with a single backpack and one carry-on luggage and felt incredibly light. unburdended. mobile. free. the choas was lifting.

With love, loss and longing for more (something that doesn’t have a name yet).

Clare.