Minutes drift into hours, and hours into… I guess days just flew by, just like the wind when it took all my aspirations of having a home. The little room up in 7A, with its one little window and bed that was too short almost felt like home. I had a little rack I made out of cardboard, broken poles, and badminton string. I kept all my clothes, and an assortment of Oreo cookies there, along with my drying towel. I had my suitcase on my bed, the only place it would fit, coving a huge black spot of mould. It wasn’t home in the traditional sense, I hadn’t been there long, nor did I have family or friends there. In fact I lived with two guys I didn’t know from Adam. It was home I guess because I put my things there, right where I wanted, and I decided it would be home.  Minutes and days sped by though, and I found that it was time to go. After that first week when I made my room my own, the room had not changed. It felt the same amount home at the moment of leaving as it did in the moment when I stuffed my backpack in the corner and my suitcase on my bed. 

 The days always drift by. That is the scary part of staying in one place too long. Time goes by without anything to mark it. Days can slip into years before you know it and nothing has changed. Home does not become more home, it only become a place to sleep and eat. 

 When you pack up and move a place every choice is layed before you to be evaluated and judged. Why did I buy three of same tshirt? Did I really spend that much time eating at that one noodle place? Why didn’t I work harder to learn the language, I can barely tell my neighbours I miss them. Why didn’t I ever fix that leak? I have four hams left, I kept saving them for a special occasion, and now there are none left. You cannot stay the same and move. You cannot remain the same person and say goodbye. 

 I am packing up again, and I am not the same as I was before. This move brought things I didn’t imagine. In this little room full of other people’s things I saw the power of prayer, and the felt the depths of loneliness. I worked at learning a foreign language and questioned my own. Now I look back and wonder why I didn’t study harder, pray more, read more, listen better, and why didn’t I spend more time out of that little room? I will not do the same things this next week, and I can thank moving for that. 

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