Today is my last Tuesday here. Tomorrow will be my last Wednesday… you get the idea. There are exactly seven days left of me living in this city. Seven days of living in this house. Seven days of talking to my neighbours and seven days of visiting with my friends. In eight days, life will be new.
Anywhere I go, I feel like a ghost: I feel like I don’t belong here anymore. This is not my home, it is no longer part of my current identity, and it feels surreal to walk around as if everything is the same as it used to be. I think the feeling will only get worse as the week goes on. In the meantime, I have to just keep going and let everything happen and unfold the way it will: We’ll pack up the house, fill up the truck, watch as all our possessions drive away, and just wait until it’s time for us to drive away as well. We are speeding right up to the end, and we have no brakes.
I am still packing. Interestingly enough, I think it is getting easier. My house doesn’t look like my home anymore: It has become a shell with naked walls and empty closets. It doesn’t feel like I’m leaving behind quite as much as I initially thought. That doesn’t mean that I’ve become okay with leaving this house, though. I know that I’ll cry when this house is empty and when I close the front door for the last time. A lot has happened here, and no amount of packing can change that.
My home might be making it’s way into organized and tidy boxes, but the same cannot be said for the rest of my life. Everyday I am saying good-bye to someone else and it feels like I am leaving little pieces of me all over the place. Over the weekend it was my graduation and I said good-bye to my classmates. Yesterday I had lunch with two friends, and I won’t see them again before I leave. Tonight I am going to my last splurge group, and I will say good-bye to them. Of course, I am saving the hardest good-byes for as late as possible. Those people, well, we are all pretending like it’s not going to happen. I think it’s easier for them than it is for me though. In one week they can pretend that it’s not happening, but I have to put myself into my car and drive away from this place, and I can’t even let my tears obscure my vision.
I hope I can survive this last Tuesday, and every other last day that I have here.