Packing Light, Leaving Heavy

This past week has been a quiet whirlwind. I spent most of it clearing out my room — sorting through clothes, drawers, and the small corners where memory tends to hide. In the end, I donated nearly 80% of my wardrobe. It felt surprisingly easy, like shedding a version of myself I no longer needed. I’m packing light for the journey back to Asia, and I fully intend to keep it that way once I settle in. Minimal, intentional, unburdened.

What I didn’t expect was how much furniture I had accumulated over the years. Selling it all became its own little project — Facebook Marketplace turned out to be a goldmine of eager takers. I was genuinely surprised by how quickly things moved, and how many people were happy to take my old pieces off my hands. In a way, I’ve recouped most of what I spent furnishing this space, which feels like a quiet win.

The only item that refused to budge was my portable air conditioner. I bought it secondhand from a work friend years ago, and despite listing it, there were no bites. Maybe I should’ve posted it earlier in the summer. Eventually, I passed it on to a friend whose family could use it — a small gesture that felt better than a sale.

Beyond the sorting and selling, the week held something softer: final gatherings with friends. Farewells that weren’t dramatic, just warm and real. We shared food, stories, and that unspoken understanding that we might meet again — in a different place, at a different time.

Now, with just a few days left, I’m sitting in the quiet of what remains. It’s strange. I feel excited, but also oddly numb. Bittersweet doesn’t quite cover it. Leaving family behind is never easy, but life moves forward, and so must I. There’s a kind of survival in choosing change, and I believe — even in the uncertainty — that it’s worth it.

The only task left is to sell my Toyota Corolla. After that, it’s the airport. Tuesday.