They say moving is one of the most stressful things that you will ever do. When I first heard this, I mentally laughed at all those silly, disorganised people. However, I would like to apologise to all those people, because actually you are my peers, and let’s be honest here, you are probably my more organised peers.
I literally feel like I am drowning in my own stuff. All of our mass of accumulated “I don’t know where to put everything” crap is all up in my face and I don’t like it. I hear it calling to me at night from corners of the cupboard. I hear its sad whispers of feeling left out, all knowing that I will in all likelihood forget at least one important thing behind – like that bag that I once used on an important date – now discarded in the top crevice in the only built in cupboard in the whole house.
All the missing pieces of toys and puzzles are currently enacting Toy Story type manoeuvres in an effort to not be left behind – I am finding new pieces everyday. And I’m starting to suspect that just maybe, the movie might actually be real.
I moved into this house when I was 2 years old. I moved out when we got married (for about a year) and then moved back in once we built a house for my parents at the back and we had Kyla on the way. But basically I have spent 25 years of my life here. In this place.
It was the place that we used a base when we were riding bikes around the neighbourhood. It was the place that I planted my first tree. It was the place that I learnt to ride a bike in front of. It was the place I learnt to cook. It was the place that we brought Kyla home to. It was the place that we brought Riya home to. It was the place that we brought Knox home to. It was the place that we adopted our 2 dogs into. It was the place that we could make our own.
As great and wonderful as all the memories are, I don’t see my kids ever being able to do the same thing here. Not because there is anything wrong with the house (besides a couple of holes in the floor after us knocking out the wall and not fixing it), but the area has definitely changed. It is not possible to ride bikes outside without adult supervision. It’s not possible to even play in the front garden unwatched. I couldn’t even go for a jog around here without freaking out and fearing that I will be the next statistic in the crime records. To be honest, I’m often to scared to answer the door. And that just sucks.
And as bitter sweet as this move is going to be after spending pretty much my entire life here, I think that it is actually quite fitting. We’ve spent 10 years of our life together, here, with this house as our base. It’s time for us to move onto the next step of our lives together with a new base. One that is unfamiliar to both Seth and I, and a place where I will hopefully be able to let the kids play in the park unsupervised (eventually).
But one thing I won’t miss is the neighbours. Sorry neighbours.