The End is the Beginning is the End

The End is the Beginning is the End

Dear Elly G,

Remember when you asked, and I said it hadn’t hit home yet? Well, it finally did. It happened right before we left. The apartment was wholly empty, everyone else was downstairs and I was sweeping up; I looked around at the empty space we’d lived in for almost a decade, at the bare walls and the empty shelves, and started to cry. I don’t know if it was the stress and the exhaustion that did it. We’d been happy there. We’d been unhappy there, too. It was our first place together, and it held a wealth of memories. It was home, and now we were leaving. Other than where I grew up, I don’t think I’ve ever lived for as long in one place as I did in that apartment.  I loved it so much, I stood there, clutching a broom with tears coursing down my face like I was Judy Ann Santos in Mara Clara. Moments in time! I know. Gross.  

A came up and we stood on the empty balcony, said goodbye to our view of the lakeshore (and a million condos + the tip of the CN Tower), then returned our keys and left. I cried when we drove away; I know it’s corny, but I don’t think I can bear to see our old building again. Not this soon, anyway. I miss that homely, basic little apartment and the comfort of the familiar. It will be a while before this new one will truly feel like home.

You’d think we were free and clear for that day, wouldn’t you? Nope. About an hour away from London, we got caught in a traffic jam; some trailer truck had smashed into a sedan not too far away, and the entire highway was closed off and we sat there for nearly 45 minutes before we could start moving again. I’m not complaining overmuch about this; it is infinitely better to be caught in a traffic jam than to be the cause of one. And we also got to see an absolutely gorgeous sunset on the drive back, where I indulged myself by pretending I was Forrest Gump for a minute.

Thus ends the saga of the flight from Toronto. In conclusion, when moving I have this to share:

– sell all your shit.
– hire professionals.
– choose a truck at least 2x larger than what U-haul says is adequate.
– sell all your shit.
– hire professionals.
– just sell all your shit.

 

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

 

Yours in relief,
Nikka

ps. Congratulate me! Not a single thing was broken. Not a single picture frame, or tumbler, wine glass, computer monitor, or CPU. I packed the stuff, and I packed it well, and there was nothing holding them in place in the back of the truck. Yes, I know, the horror. One open box of frames had even fallen onto its side when we opened up U-haul # 2 the next day; but, everything was intact. Gloat.