As I sit amidst all these packing boxes, I recollect yesterday. You see, we just moved back to our old house, which we had renovated, so I like to call it our ‘new-old house’. Anyway, yesterday, when I woke up, preparations were already underway. My dad, ever the late packer, was almost done with his cupboard and my mom was trying to fit the whole kitchen into a single cardboard box. I was assigned the job of eating my breakfast and finishing up with my room.
I had finished packing my room two before, thanks to my mother’s frequent reminders that we were moving soon-really, that woman would make a good alarm clock-and for the past week I had literally been camping in my own house, practicing ‘Leave No Trace’ with utmost care. Whatever came out of my backpack, went right back in without so much as a clue that it ever left the bag.
Anyway, thanks to all this meticulousness on my part, I finished up with my room within half an hour (phew!). Then, I went to help my dad. Now my dad isn’t really one of those super-organized types, he doesn’t really have much time for it. So, I guess my help was quite welcome. Just as we taped the last piece of bubble wrap into place, the doorbell, the tempo truck that would take all our stuff was here!
It sounded to me like the battle cry of a primitive army, sounding the end of the end. In came the infantry and stood in a line, they surveyed the carnage they had to clear, without time they got right to it and about 2 and a half hours and 15 buckets of perspiration later, the truck left with our house in its cavernous belly, as my mom and I were left with a seemingly empty house, although in our eyes, it was full of memories.