Thursday, November 5


just got back from the old apartment to pack what's left unpacked . I tried not to be sentimental about it but as I gaze over the balcony and saw the Ayala skyline, I can't help but get teary eyed. I thought moving houses would be emotionally easy for me after all these years but sadly, no. I've moved in the 70% here in my new address and packing the other 30% makes me feel like I have to summarize 30% of my life in 4 more boxes. I have to devoid myself of any attatchement to an object and think if it is anything of use in the future before I shoot it in the box. It's a tough call. There were cards, little mementos, 2-yr old acrylic paints, year old odd buttons, notes, mementos, etc... If I die and become a superstar after I'm dead, there's no way of tracing my past back. Oh the cherry blossoms tattoed on my arm, nothing as beautiful should stay as long.

BTW, after more than years without communication, I talked to my dad today. It was awkward and I can still feel his pain and embarrassment over the phone but he agreed to help lift boxes tomorrow. :)

Note to self: I'm a strong person. I'm a cold, heartless bitch. (repeat 3x)

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