So I’m still not sure how to tell the story of my move. There’s a narrative here, somewhere, but I haven’t found it yet. Forgive the inconsistencies that will likely pop up. I will at least try to be honest.
Anyway: mixed feelings. A little while ago, I wouldn’t be leaving for another two months and now it’s less than three weeks away. Shit is on. And of course, sometimes I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing. Most of the time I simply can’t wait. But just realizing I’ve already seen people for the last time is unsettling. These goodbyes weren’t that important (and mostly unconscious) but the important goodbyes are coming. Soon. One of them will be my “magnificent head of hair” (that is truly, honest-to-God a literal quotation). I’m pretty sure my coupe won’t be able to handle Indonesia’s 95 F and humidity. Sorry ladies.
I’m leading a singular life as my life and my impending move have become synonymous. I can’t separate the two and neither can the people around me. Kind of tiring but reassuring as well: there’s little else to be worried about. Although… There’s always politics.
Saturday was my last day of work at the clothing store and that’s yet another finished chapter. Retail will never be my career, but I had some great times working there (and it kept me solvent). A couple of customers even came by to say goodbye and wish me well.
Side note: the job was only part-time – so I won’t just move to Indonesia, I’ll start my grown-up working life there as well. If only I could grow a decent adult beard…
Earlier this week, a friend told me “Indonesia is waiting for you” and she’s right, it does feel that way.
