I don't really like the unpacking phase after moving into a new house. Although the first few boxes can be quite pleasurable - especially when it comes to arranging my collection of books into their new shelter, an act which almost gives me the same warm feeling I got as a child when my brothers and I made a little nest for the new kitty or puppy - it does get pretty tiresome once I reach the boxes with random stuff. Posters and crumpled city maps, letters and postcards, souvenirs and old coins, scarfs and t-shirts - united by their rather sad fate of having to spend the rest of eternity in a box which is never really unpacked.
However, there is always one particular collection of objects which is excavated from the fearful depths of dark cardboard and studied from up close for more than just a moment. The shoebox containing my pictures from various occasions. Gently holding my hand while I slowly saunter down Memory Lane, almost letting me browse through my own life, sometimes even infusing me with the idea that things looked better in the past. Except for the haircut of course.
Maybe this is the reason why people decide to move to new places. Because these make you realize that things can look even better in the future...
No comments:
Post a Comment