on moving
moving is always a rush of adrenaline for the possibilities at first, followed by a long span of exhaustion. After moving over ten times in the last ten years, I feel like I've lost the luxury to attach myself to my belongings, but I do usually enjoy packing things. it feels like solving a visual puzzle of space and form, and can be calming in the way that watching carpet cleaning videos are. sometimes, it's a strict reminder of what's important to you.
obviously this means I envy anyone who identifies as a local. In boarding school, the word (local) referred to a day-scholar child of school staff and teachers who was privy to the secrets of the outside world. In some ways it still feels like a club I can't get membership into. Those who have lived within a pin-code for years - with regular local hangs, colony friends or nosy neighbours and an ageing pet - are like characters in gilmore girls to me. people who not only see their hometown change, but also feel the pains and pleasures of its augmentations.
There are 17 drawers, 16 chairs, 52 hangers, 7 cane baskets and 6 large wooden shelves in the house we moved into. Our landlady lived here for 12 years and has entrusted us with 323 books, 141 CDs, one vinyl record player, and a grand piano, for one year. The home looks like it has hosted more friends and family than it has room for. It smells oak-y and pine-like as if Christmas is always around the corner. It makes me want to shed some cynicism and embrace my inner granny. I want to bring more people home to feed; Or maybe I'll find myself curling up into the hermette I was meant to be.
Either way, and long or short spans of time, I think we absorb the places and spaces we inhabit. I know I have some San Francisco on my skin, Bangalore in my speak and Abu Dhabi in my hair. Once I am able to read the Swedish books on my bookshelves, kanske I'll be wearing Stockholm on my sleeve.