This post is long overdue.
If you’ve followed me on Instagram you’d probably seen some posts that indicated I had moved.
Yes, my son and I moved into our own place last December 2016. It is our first place since my divorce. When I left my ex-husband, I moved straight into my parents’ home and that was well over 6 years ago. So when my fiance and I decided to get our own place, I was quite overwhelmed.
I was scared.
Scared because I was leaving my ‘safety backup’ aka my family. Without their support throughout these years, life would’ve been so different. Moving back in with my family hasn’t been easy too because for years even before I got married I was already living on my own. I left home when I went to high school in Jakarta while my family still lived in Kalimantan (Borneo).
“Just come home…” to this day I still vividly remember the comforting sound of my father’s voice calling me all the way from Zambia as I cried over the end of my marriage.
So I came home…with my son.
My parents helped me so much, they help care for my son while I worked long hours. They gave us a home.
That’s why I was washed with all kinds of emotions as I prepared the move. Between the excitement of finally being back on my two feet, having a place I could call home, to the bittersweet of leaving my parents’ home.
As I started packing, I was swept away by a different kind of emotional waves. You know how somehow when you are moving you found things that you didn’t even realize you still have? It’s like traces of your memories came out of the closet – literally!
And that’s what happened. Pieces of evidence of my previous life came out scattered on the floor. From old Christmas cards friends sent to our old home in Dothan, Alabama to the newborn bracelets they put on our wrists after my son was born. Old documents for my previous green card, tickets stubs to the ultrasounds photos.
In an odd way, it feels like my old life came out in the open to be purged…to be cleansed to allow me to walk into the new life awaiting for us three. I decided to discarded plenty of those items that no longer serves me. We are moving to a small apartment so that alone put a limit of what we could bring with us.
This move is a big adjustment not only for me but also for my now 10 years old son. To him, home is his grandparents’ house where he’s been the golden grandson. So it is a big deal for him too and I had to lay down how different life will be for us.
With him starting a new school there’s a lot to take in. New home, new school, the new rhythm of our lives and we are still adapting, still adjusting. So far I am loving this little place I could call home.
Managing my own place again after all these years felt scary at first but this is growth, this is life and I am finding joy in being independent again.
How bout you? How many times have you moved house in your lifetime?