I am on holiday now, visiting my many homes across the world. I have lived in 5 cities in 5 years, and left pieces of myself behind in each one of them.
I’ve always thought of it quite figuratively: bits of my soul left on certain streets where the sunlight caught my eyes that one time, or laughs and tears entrusted to dear friends.
As I travel and visit them all again, I am definitely reencountering those little pieces that have been left behind, but I’m also confronted with the fact that I’ve left actual literal pieces behind too.
Kitchen tools. Books. Bedding. Framed pictures of birds. Heavy things I couldn’t take in my suitcases. A pickle jar full of my favorite builder’s tea that probably hasn’t been opened in a year. Nail polish. Spices. Little things that I had forgotten about.
They jump out at me as I walk around, like little ghosts of my past shouting, “YOU LIVED HERE ONCE. I WAS YOURS.”
I still can’t take any of them with me. The little things I forgot I had. They’ll stay behind, and it looks like I’ll continue leaving more and more pieces all over the world.
5 cities in 5 years.