Madness! I cannot believe I am still packing. (Neither can my parents, for that matter, but let’s not deal with that yet.)
Why didn’t I finish earlier? Stupid, stupid, stupid. My eyes are blurry from lack of sleep. For days I’ve been chatting up old friends and doing sappy things like reading comics I won’t get to touch for two whole years. Silly me.
But: maybe not so silly.
I need this. This is my way of saying goodbye. It’s like last orders at the pub before closing time. I’ve spent a week on a road trip across Malaysia, meeting as many friends as possible before leaving for Munich.
And now it’s time for my dearest friends of all: my room and all my little worthless possessions—except to me, they’re treasures, of course.
This is what I’m really giving up. My family and friends will stay with me, I hope, for the entire journey, however they may change. I am just worried I may change so much so that these material things won’t mean as much to me when I return. When I grow up. Or just grow older.
I have faith in people, but not stuff.
So I caress my books, my comics, my CDs while I still can, and press them like fresh flowers into my memory.