The four in front of me are small, large, Charmin, and Kosher Dill Pickles. Corrugated fiberboard in the fullness of its diversity. Cardboard boxes are cluttering up the house and my thoughts. They are stacked in rickety piles that seem destined for toppling. Does this mean toppling’s my destiny? Those boxes are proof of my life’s instability. Undeniable proof of another great change occurring.
I’ve always been an eyewitness to change. In my life, change is as common as breathing, but it still always comes as a shock. I’ve been enduring years of conditioning [ever since I was born], but I still haven’t gotten used to it. I still can’t believe how everything I know to be certain can change in a millisecond. If breathing is common, then so is choking. The mechanic rising and falling of the chest is easily prevented by a blockage in the esophagus. Moving seems to be my blockage.
The boxes block of my doorway, and the doorway to my current life. The fifth move of my high school career has long past. I survived. I made it through the abyss of the unmarked map territory. I was less than willing to accept my fate, but once more I did. I met amazing people that, although I never see or talk to anymore, I will never forget. So many moments that caused laughter. So many moments that caused tears.
I can recall standing in my room deliberating. It seemed strange to me then, and it still seems strange to me now that I can view moments like these as if I’m a spectator. I can see myself trying to decide which memories are worth packing, and which ones to throw away. It is an indecent demand to ask any human being to trash a memory, but I’ve been asked before and I’m being asked again. In my opinion, this is the worst part of the change. I will have to leave behind memories that will never quite go away. My special ghosts created by the change.
Every part of my being is shrieking to fight back, but fighting back results in losing a greater loss. This isn’t how I wanted my life to be. This isn’t how I wanted change. I prayed for change, until it actually came. The long awaited change I desperately sought is now going to change me. I’m just a minnow out of place and struggling in the sea. I’m a small being hoping to win against the magnitude of fate, hoping to outsmart the great alteration that is taking place in me.
But there is a difference in this change. This time there’s some stability. Not everything is getting shaken and replaced. I’m returning, unlike the other times. This time I’m not just disappearing forever. This time I’m taking a few along; there’s a connection. This time I’m not so worried about being swallowed in the waves. I genuinely believe that all will be well.
…How do you do it? I’m amazed by what you can do, the connections you can find, the metaphors you can construct. Sometimes you appear to be made of paper, but you truly are writer material. Is it scatterbrained, or is there a hidden genius?