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Moving on, moving out.

I have this unexplained tendency to easily attach to things. I cannot let go of old reviewers, I cannot throw away meal stubs from Geog camp, I cannot say goodbye without looking back and asking for another hug. It could be a good thing, I guess, if I was the type of person who makes scrapbooks for fun. Or if one day, I become super famous and get some sort of cult following (HA. HA. HA.), I'm sure my old blue books and dried out highlighters could be worth a few hundred (or thousand?) bucks on eBay. But more often than not this attachment only leads to an unwarranted sense of nostalgia for things you could have easily discarded. And a whole lot of clutter.

For the past few days I've literally been immersed in clutter as I packed my stuff and prepared to move out of the room I've called my home for the last two and a half years. It's been a place that took me quite a while to get used to but eventually became my sole place of comfort in this land far, far away: Diliman. It was spacious and cozy, quiet and inviting. And the best part: it was always chilly there. Even during the summer when I took advanced classes, I only had to set the ceiling fan at 1 because I'd get too cold to take a bath in the morning. Seriously. It was effortless staying there, and what made it easier was that I had friends (classmates since Grade 1!) living there with me. That room had a lot of good memories, from sudden brownouts to surprise visitors.

But as always, life happens, and sometimes the places we hold dear to us slowly become the places we fear the most. At first I didn't want to admit it, but a part of me was feeling incredibly estranged as days went by. I tried holding on to the room, to the familiar setting it once was. But it was difficult, especially because I couldn't really do anything about it. It was home, it's not like I can escape it. But it certainly didn't feel like home. Eventually the alienation just became too much; I had to get out.

And so despite my deep attachment to the place, I've decided to move out. And as a precedent to my exit, I had to pack up and sort out the things I was to bring with me. It wasn't easy having to discard a lot of things I hold dear to me, especially when they were so utterly useless now. But I had to. And in a lot of ways, that whole packing ritual was a detoxification of sorts. I had to throw out the junk. I needed to get rid of the bad vibes. I had to let go of the memories I can no longer take back.

As Monica from Friends puts it, it was the end of an era.

Moving out may have been difficult, but I forgot how exciting moving in actually was. Saturday was the monumental Moving Day. It took a surprising turn, but it actually already made a happy memory for this room. It was exciting seeing the new shelves being filled with books, the bed being covered with new sheets. There's a different kind of rush in getting a new set of keys duplicated and meeting friendly and welcoming of people. It was fun. And I needed that. I needed the fun, exciting feeling of coming home to a place I actually liked.

Everything's back to square one again, I guess. It's like getting a new haircut- it takes a while to get used to, but I'll get there. I'm feeling incredibly positive about this place. It's bright, pleasant, and really cozy. And yep: Wi-fi! Oh be still, my Internet-dependent heart.

Now, here I am, typing away in my comfortable, lovable new space. It's different from the one I left, but it's equally inviting. I look around the space on my shelves, above my bed, on my closet, and I think to myself, I can't wait for it to feel like home. I can't wait to fill this place with my clutter.