Packing is not as easy as I thought. It’s difficult to put my entire life in just a few cardboard boxes. It’s not like I have a lot to begin with, but what I do have are small household items that I saved money to buy from the cheapest shops and yard sales.
Despite everything, I have cared for these items and they have lasted me years. And now, I have to throw most of them away, or give them away to people who would never understand the value these things held for me.
Feeling oddly sentimental over the blender with the cracked glass that I once dug out of somebody’s trash and fixed, I let out a sigh and put it in the throw-out box. My heart isn’t in any of this, my mind replaying the confrontation with my mother over and over again. A part of me, the conditioned part of me, wants to ru
