A Dash of Nostalgia and A Sprinkle of Salt

Old Picture, Fresh Memory

Yes, the image above is a proof that I’m back to my lomography obsession now.

So I’ve sent two years worth of stuff for shipping yesterday morning. My apartment now looks like a messed up playroom of some poorly organised schoolchildren. After struggling to fit my two years of life into three tea chest boxes, my body aches all over. The boxes were too high for me, so bending down in the correct way was not possible at all. I had to bend down like a dork, even stepping into the box at some point, to make sure the items stay the way I want them to. My back hurts like there’s no tomorrow because of that.

Now that the finals are around the corner (this Saturday, to be precise), I find myself thinking back to the days when we first reached Auckland. It feels like a long time ago, but it also tastes fresh in my mind still. I may be somewhat reclusive compared to most of my coursemates, but I’d like to think that I’ve had a fair share of good times with them, regardless of how limited my participation was.

I didn’t get to go places because of some limitations. My parents greatly discouraged me from traveling. “You can go back later when you’re already working. In fact, you can visit any country you want to once you’re earning some decent money on your own,” my mother once told me. I feel a little sad for not taking the opportunity to travel, but I know Mom meant well for me. I’ll be back, maybe in a couple of years if not next year for certain events where I get semi-sponsored out of luck. I’ll be traveling a lot starting from next year, so I really should not feel sad about not having the time and money to travel this year and the last.

I believe that as long as I’m alive and breathing, opportunities live with me, walking side by side with me and holding my hands. They will always wait for the right time to pull at my sleeves, so I won’t feel sad anymore.

Remembering all those little things makes me feel old. I’m no longer that girl who was paranoid all the time about what people would think about her if she were to choose a certain path. I’ve become that girl who doesn’t care about what people think about her and thinks that she at least has a right to make her own decisions.

I’d like to just extend my deepest condolences to friends who lost their loved ones in the span of two years being overseas. It must have been a great emotional challenge to go through, so I hope my feelings would somehow reach them and become a tiny portion of their strength (even if they don’t need it from me).

I can’t wait to go home. I just can’t wait.

And I’m sure this entry is just one in a series of posts relating to ‘nostalgia’ that I may possibly be writing soon.