The one thing that I absolutely hate about packing is that the mess gets worse and worse because you're dragging things out from the hidden depths of your room; and only once you've finished chucking every random thing into the cardboard box or trash bin, does your room resemble something... neat.

And the problem with being an inherently messy person is that despite emphatic vows of reforming the next semester and making mental notes of assembling my things in an organised manner, I know once I run my penknife through the packaging tape of my cardboard box, the whole hoard of random things will just explode and scatter themselves around my room, again.

In some ways, I think the current state of my bedroom reflects the room in my head.
Boxes and boxes of memories and material sentiments are all over, specks of dust are hanging onto the bases of boxes, there are so many things that I need to throw away, but I simply won't.
I hang on to over forty pieces of plastic/paper bags thinking I'll need them in the future, I hold on to scrap pieces of paper thinking I can use them again.

This reminds me of how my father used to insist that if I cleared my room I'll get better grades because what I see will be a reflection of the organisation in my head.
Although practically speaking, it's for the more efficient access to notes and books.

But I don't think he's so wrong after all.
Maybe I should heed my dad's advice and clear my room.
Then, hopefully, my life will get all better.

In the meantime, it's time to pack my mess into neat little boxes.

Honestly, having lived in the same house/room for almost all my life, packing my life away into boxes seems so clinical and dry; just like tucking away memories into an ugly brown box and reopening them in a new environment.
Somehow it's just not the same.

And this time as I return to my little green room for almost a month, I'll be bringing back less than half of the things I had with me.
Somehow that makes me feel severed in half.

-

Ohwell, just a penny for my thoughts ( ha ha, yes PUN intended)

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

- Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats