Destroying a home

Last weekend, I destroyed a home.

When my wife and I got our place together, we did the standard home maker thing of making it ours. Perhaps this was a mistake, as only a year later we’re leaving the country for new things (we did anticipate it, though) and now I’m having to systematically disassemble everything that we put together to get it in to storage. Each item that we’d considered together, made decisions on style on. Each picture that I hung was one that we’d agreed on; every last item was picked because it was us.

It felt bad enough when my wife left ahead of me, to get our place in Japan sorted, and to get settled in to her new job. It left our place already feeling empty, somewhere that was a space that we both filled, was suddenly only half full.

Now that the movers have come and taken everything, the place is now a shell of what it used to be. The walls that used to have pictures; the place where our desk was, our books and shelves. I find myself unwilling to spend time there, where it was once our space, our haven. It’s now become a space that doesn’t feel like ours, or even mine.

I’m also without a day job for the first time since I was 18. It’s weird to try and fill the days without wasting time.

I feel like I’m in a holding pattern. A few more weeks and I’m gone, away from everything that I know here.

We’ll see how it goes.

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