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June 09, 2003
Tangents
A weekend of garage sales, fluffy-feel-good-movies, study-nights-turned-into-slumber-parties and packing. The garage sale saw some decent sales, thank goodness; and Mel came over for abit, which was good too (because distractions are most welcomed to fill in the gaps of silences). Movie-watching was fun; and, for a moment, for a while, it didn't seem like there are deadlines looming ahead and issues aplenty to deal with.
But they always come back in their strange little ways. In between reading Mary McCarthy's dry travelogues on Venice and Florence, I attempt to pack up three years of my life and have interesting conversations with Mel. Packing up is never easy. Sorting through my papers and my old letters, I feel immense pain having to decide which are must-haves; and which ones can be squeezed in. Each piece of filmsily scribbled note comes with a memory. Each letter etched in my brain and sometimes, my heart. His letters. His photos. His envelopes. I can't throw. And I begin to miss. Letters, presents and notes from old friends. Movie stubs, receipts, catalogues. I can't throw. And I begin to miss. Memories from friends no longer, I throw, I have to. And I begin to miss too.
Some stuff, I throw. And I feel incredibly sad. A part lost. A memory doomed to fade sometime soon.
I wish I can remember things. Then throwing wouldn't have to be so painful.
But still, I have to grit my teeth and move on. Two more papers, 6000 more words. Mary McCarthy's tough shit to deal with, and perhaps, Lacan would be worse. Packing is traumatising. Not to mention an entire backlog of humans I have to meet up with before I leave. All that in two weeks' time.
Three years or so of a life to be packed up in storage boxes.
Three years of so of a life to be packed up in two weeks.
It doesn't quite make sense. It is not easy. Because I'm overly sentimental? Or what?
It's harder to leave Melbourne, than to leave Singapore.
There's nothing to look forward to. Just plain foreboding.
And in Singapore, you know you can/will go back to the people you've left behind.
In Melbourne, you run the risk of never seeing them again.
I will miss them. And because of that, I am obliged to meet up with them a final time.
Does it make any difference?
Will it make the missing any less?
And all in all, amidst everything, I miss you still.
Listening to:When Can I See You Again - Babyface
Posted by lainey at June 9, 2003 09:53 AM
Comments
don't ever look back... okay? there's always a silver lining in every cloud.
there's always me c" , )
Posted by: em at June 12, 2003 10:08 PM