I’m writing this while waiting for the moving company to arrive and pick up most of my worldly possessions. They’ll be put on a boat and shipped across the ocean. I won’t be reunited with them until several weeks from now.
Not pictured here is my bicycle, because once packed it was too big to fit in my friend’s car to take home. The movers will pick it up from the bicycle shop in town. So. My life consists of eleven (11) boxes — and the two suitcases I will take with me. It doesn’t seem like much once it’s all stacked in a tidy pile in the middle of my sitting room. Five (5) of these boxes are books and one crate contains only binders filled with articles from my research. I am a researcher.
If I were staying in the UK, the pile would be a bit bigger: I’m leaving behind various electronics that won’t work Stateside. But not more than another row of boxes; I accurately gauged how many boxes I would be shipping, surprisingly enough.
After five and a half years, my time in Scotland, in the UK, and in Europe, is drawing to a close. I didn’t know when I moved here in September 2008 that I would be staying for half a decade. Who knows what the next chapter will bring? And yet my ex-pat heart hopes it won’t be too long until find myself with another pile of boxes stacked in another living room, waiting for the international movers to arrive.