For the Big Move, Mr A and I only had a total baggage
allowance of 60 kg. That may seem a lot – but since he decided to bring his
bicycle (15 kg) and his Mac (20 kg) – and that pretty much left us with just 15
kg for clothes and everything else.
I had no qualms about the limited amount of shoes I’d be
able to bring, really. I was actually looking forward to trimming down my
wardrobe to the bare essentials. Packing for this move allowed me to de-clutter
and detach.
What I did find difficult was to leave the packing duties to
Mr A.
See, if it had been up to me, everything would have been
neatly folded and organized into labelled Ziploc baggies. But alas, there were no Ziplocs. Mr A’s packing philosophy involved rolling things up
and then stuffing and squeezing them into all the available crevices of the box
(which was mainly occupied by the computer) and the big bag (which also
carried the bike). I had some sleepless nights thinking about
how my shoes would be sharing the same space with my underwear.
Even so, I chose not to make a fuss about the whole packing
business. To Mr A’s credit, his ability to compress stuff into tiny spaces in
record time meant we did not spend our remaining days just packing things.
Besides, I still had my one carry-on bag that was all mine
to pack.
Not that I had too many things to put in a Ziploc. Aside
from the travel toiletries and gadgets, these were the contents of my carry-on on
that First Voyage:
I call these “The Reminders of my Roots”:
I call these “The Reminders of my Roots”:
An assortment of letters & cards from family and friends
(Ziplocked)
My journal, a dozen or so entries away from being filled up (inner compartment)
A blank journal, un-ruled (inner compartment)
Three small notebooks, for making lists (Ziplocked)
A rosary (front pocket)
My journal, a dozen or so entries away from being filled up (inner compartment)
A blank journal, un-ruled (inner compartment)
Three small notebooks, for making lists (Ziplocked)
A rosary (front pocket)
In the hope of building a better life and finding my corner of the sky, I was uprooting myself from all things familiar -it was essential that I never lost sight of my truths. It was important that I stayed connected with people and practices that have made me who I am.
On the whole, I am quite at peace here. This is a beautiful country, after all. And of course, as long as I am with
Mr A, I am always home. But as with any transition,
the feelings of displacement and loss come. And when they do, I turn to the things that
remind of my roots. I take out my
journal and write things down. I take out my rosary and pray. I write to my
family. I message my friends. I am reminded that wherever I am, I am loved. That thought centers me.
Mr A and I unpacked 20 weeks ago. I trust that just as the perceived
chaos of my husband’s packing eventually led to shoes and underwear being in their
rightful places, so it shall be with our life in this new world.
*
Jenny's story on MyMommyology
Marc's story on Fatherland
Tala's story on Tala Ocampo
Shine's story also on Tala's blog
Nix's story on Driving Spiderman
Glendale's story on My "Kandy" Crush
Tracy's story on Tala's blog
Milen's story on Tala's blog
Didi's story on D for Delicious
Cath's story on D for Delicious
