Letting go

I packed some of my things last weekend to stay at my aunt's place for a while. My parents have gone back to the US for a while and will be back again at the end of March to do the real clean-up and packing of the house before we finally hand it over to the yuppie owners. I could still stay on in the house but because the house next door is undergoing massive renovations and the dust and dirt as a result of that aren't exactly what I want to live with everyday. Of a greater concern is the labourers who are working on the neighbour's project. Not very safe for me to be at home alone when all those people are moving around.

But it was difficult to leave. Afterall, since when has saying goodbye been easy? The plan for me to stay at my aunt's was thought of way before, since we found out that the house next door was going to be renovated. But I never got down to clearing and packing (well, not everything though - think about the possessions one would have amassed after 16 years). It was only last weekend, at the last moment, that I threw in some things into my suitcase to be brought over to my aunt's place. While I was clearing the cupboards and shelves, I inevitably came across things from times past. We all know that feeling and I just had to cry. The thought of leaving the house was too much to handle.

I have lived away for a while, done my share of travelling and spent countless hours away for whatever reasons. But I knew that at the end of the day, there was a place that I could go home to. That was the place I called home. To be plucked out of this comfort, or rather, to let go of this place is difficult. It has been more than just a physical structure. It has been and always will be the place where the heart lies - home. My family has been scattered or separated through space but that structure has been home. Our home.

Call me a sentimental weepy, but even when I visited my uncle at Chinese New Year, it brought back many memories for me. He lives in a condominium where I used to live and his place was where my brother and I used to go when we were kids to be baby-sat by him and my late aunt. Or just to go over to hang out. It was a step-back-in-time feel - the sofa set is the same as it was years ago (primary school days, everyone). There were some books on his shelves that I used to read with my brother and my cousin - I found one with my scribbling on it in my primary school handwriting.

My parents and I took a walk round the condominium and went past the unit we used to live in. The aluminium grille and backgate are still intact! After 20 years! As we walked, I saw flashes of the past. My brother and I playing with the neighbours in the various parts of the estate. Our BMX gang versus the roller-skating girls, eating the dew (honey, I was told, because of its sweetness) off the ixora (flower) plant, the hiding spots for hide-and-seek (did I ever mention I hid inside dustbin chambers before?), the swimming pool that got me into trouble...haha!

Difficult to let go, isn't it? Just a couple of days ago, I went back to the house after work to check that there were no leaks from the wet weather, and, of course, to clear the mail. I couldn't bear to leave. Not that my aunt's place is the dumps (it's the exact opposite, really) but there truly isn't anywhere like home. I kept looking at the clock because I knew that time was running out and I had to go.

Either I let go of the sentimental weepy or the sentimental past. Letting go is difficult, both ways. With big decisions to make within the next few months, taking on new challenges will require new strength. But holding on to the past for once, will give new strength, new hope. Maybe I have to let go, and let God.