I am currently dead friggin’ tired with just about no room left to think, but I told myself this must be written.
Tonight. It has to be tonight.
Why? Because it’s my last night alone in this room – my room – and space here in Philly. In truth, this is hardly a big deal – I’ll be living alone for the next 1.5 years starting in September after all but I admit that I have attachment issues. I tend to grow fond of places, trinkets and the like; this room’s not an exception.
Right now I’m sitting where I usually am – on my bed – in the half-lit room. This means it’s downtime, whenever the smaller light is switched on.
My table is clean, no longer a mess with papers, books, stationery and more, filling every nook and cranny. It’s been witness to so many write-ups, school- and personal-wise that I can’t even begin to explain just why this table… it has my mojo. Whoever uses it next, I hope he or she remembers that I’ve pretty much blessed it; it has my soul in it, every painstaking effort and late-nights spent right there, sometimes frustrated and thus, throwing papers everywhere and mostly, just deep in concentration. I’m already missing how it typically looks like when the sunlight brims through the blinds. I love the fact that the attached bookshelf was so compartmentalized; I knew exactly where things were, when I needed them.
Now it’s empty. It’s just a table.
Right now, once more and as usual, I have my Beats headphones on, though I can still make out murmurs and movement just outside at the common area; Housemate #2 and her mum are busy at work in the kitchen, doing whatever. This is usually how it is – I’m inside, safely and comfortably tucked in while the ongoing of everything and everyone else takes place just outside of my peripheries. I’m always inside, looking in or quietly listening to all the voices within my bubble. I am always the observer.
My mind is on overdrive, thinking and mulling, though in reality it’s true – there’s hardly any room for this right now. I can’t even say I’m in the moment, or that I’m enjoying myself – let’s just say that I’m feeling normal, as opposed to emofunk or frustrated – being here with the parents. They’re giving me way too many perspectives and not necessarily of the terrible sort; I desperately want to analyze, dissect and more, these thoughts but again – currently, everything’s just taking place – happening – and I’m simply chugging along, like ticking off my mental to-do checklist.
But I want to write this, I want this to be here. Why? Because it’s the last night that I am alone in this room. It’s the last night of being here in this room on my own, in this space I have learned to call my own …and will soon let go of. Attachment is never really a good thing to be honest, but ah damn, I am what I am and I feel what I feel. I’ve accepted the reality that I am closing a good chapter in my life, that I’m finally reaching the end of it – I’m happy at the thought now, embracing this fully – but I’m rather wispy at leaving behind everything I’ve come to love and hold near and dear.
There are way too many things – or so it feels – going on in my life right now, I can’t even… A breather. I need a breather. Ah hell, I’m signing off. Goodbye to youth. Goodbye to everything wonderful, beautiful and bittersweet. Goodbye to a private space, one that breathed me to life, held me in and became an extension of myself, however temporary.
This Sunday someone else will take over for the summer, followed by a new tenant in the fall. I’ll move on to the west coast, writing and living a new chapter of my life in my supposed dream school – things will be good, greater even. Maybe. Ch-ch-changes.
No matter, one thing is certain: I will miss myself in this space, the girl I’ve become over the two-year duration spent living here.
Thank you for holding me in, like no other place has.