I used to think it was ironic that I had so many possessions. Aren’t people who move a lot supposed to have all their belongings fit in one suitcase? Considering I’ve now moved 25 times in my almost 28 years on this planet, I definitely don’t fit that stereotype.
But actually, when you think about it everything makes sense. I’ve never had those four walls and ceiling around me that I can truly call home. The longest I’ve lasted in a place was 4 years and that was my parents current home. The shortest was one month. So of course I would cling onto my belongings. Those knick naks I collected from cities around the world, cards from people I haven’t seen in years and furniture from my childhood I won’t throw away have been my home.
I may not have seen the flat I lived in in Egypt for over 25 years, but on my floor sits the rag rug that used to play on as a toddler. I’m currently sitting on the sofa that I used to curl up on and watch soaps with my mum when I was a teen. And every time I visit a new country I buy an ornament and put it on my windowsill or mantelpiece so I remember. I may not have had a real home but my things are like my security blanket. They help me feel safe in new places.
Which makes things interesting now that for the first time I have a home and I can honestly say I have no idea when I’m moving next. This is the house that I will at least spend the next decade in. That’s crazy. I own it and can do whatever I like to it on the inside. I can paint, I can hang up pictures, I can even rip up the carpet if I want. How amazing is that?
It may be blank rooms now (currently filled with boxes) but it’s mine and I can’t wait to make it a home. Watch this space.