Packing up your life and throwing it away is invariable traumatic. And it’s what I’ve begun. So many cupboards, so full of so much that has been my life, that I am now to throw away. To box up. To give away. Going through one of my cupboards on Friday was depressing, and yet in a sense, cleansing.  I went through computer books, books on myriad computer languages, on computer programming, on graphics design, on computer graphics programming: all these, which doubtless cost a few thousand dollars went into the trash. I went through hand-written books and typed out notes: biology, literature, math; hours and hours of painstaking work preparing for my GCEs, thousands of hours and so much sweat, it all went into the trash. Different phases of my life, stuff that I’ve been unwilling and unable to part with… it’s all finally severed from me. And all these is just the tip of the iceberg: so much more remains in so many more cupboards: toys, lego, books (O God! So many books) which all has to go. All but a little, has to go.

And in a sense I’m glad I’m moving… and not just moving but over an ocean. Because it means that there is only so much I can bring along. And perhaps it’s difficult to explain and it’s difficult to understand, how it’s good to finally throw away so much of sentimental value that I’ve cherished and treasured for so long. For abundance of possessions does not a person make. But that does not make it any less painful.

Kyrie eleison.