Sentimental value

I'm moving and it's really hard

This is one of the first photos I took when I moved here. I remember thinking, “I never want to leave.”

Yesterday I handed over my extra set of keys to my landlord. She told me a few young couples would be coming by to view the flat this week. I remember standing there thinking how excited I was when I first moved in here too.

I’m currently going through one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had to make. I never thought leaving a home would hurt this much. I’m quite used to moving quickly and often. I can’t recall how many apartments I lived in while I was in NYC, but let’s just say it was normal for me to move multiple times a year. Even my childhood home, the place that I grew up in, I didn’t feel much attachment to it when my mom told me she was putting it on the market. But my home in London is breaking my heart.

It’s the longest place I have ever lived in during my adult life, which is five years. This flat holds so much emotion for me because it witnessed so many of my dreams and failures come true. Some of the happiest moments of my life happened here, along with some of the worst. When I first moved in here, I remember standing by the window and taking in the breathtaking view, imagining myself in the future holding a baby in my arms. I don’t know why, but I thought there would never be a day when I would leave this place.

As I sit here surrounded by moving boxes and random bits of things scattered across the floors, I grieve the life I lived here and the one I thought I was going to have here. The act of moving can be incredibly isolating when there is so much to do, and you are the one making the final decisions about what stays and what goes. Removing the shelves, repairing the walls, replacing the light bulbs, selling all the furniture, selling your clothes, packing everything, cleaning the place, all while processing the heavy emotions attached to it. I’m not going to lie, it’s been really hard. And while I have had incredible friends offer support, moving out alone emphasizes another level of loneliness that I can’t quite put into words. I will miss this place and who I once was when I lived here.

I grew up never feeling an attachment to a place, and maybe that’s why I have always been attracted to living in cities. It gives me a sense of control knowing that everything and everyone is temporary. But this apartment was my stability, and I foolishly allowed myself to lean on it for that. I have lost a lot of loved ones in my life, and while I understand that the memories that happened here will remain alive in my heart, I can’t help but feel pain in letting this place go.

For a long time, I never quite understood why people had a problem with hoarding or forming attachments to inanimate objects, but here I stand now, with humility, as life continues to teach me empathy.

It’s a strange feeling to be on the verge of a life-altering decision like leaving this place. I don’t want to leave, but I know the past does not exist anymore, and I know that this is the best decision for my life. For now, I go through each of the rooms, and I grieve the memories that happened here. It feels like there is a projector in my mind, and I replay certain scenes one last time while in this space and allow myself to cry.

As more people come by to pick up items from the flat and take a look at the view and say to me, “Wow, this view! Why are you leaving?”, the heaviness in my chest is starting to hurt a little less. If I were supposed to stay here, life wouldn’t have dealt me the cards it did. That means another home and new memories with fresh walls are going to welcome me. Leaving this place behind has allowed me to confront a lot of repressed feelings and face some harsh truths that I did not want to accept.

Some might say I stayed longer than I should have, but I like taking my time when it comes to goodbyes. Over the course of the short time I have left with this place that I once loved so much and will always remember, I will come to terms with parting ways. I sincerely hope that after this experience, I will never again grow so attached to another home, but knowing me, I probably will. I know that everyone preaches that detachment is the ultimate goal in life, but to me, the capability to feel, to be sentimental, and to allow yourself the space to feel things is even more powerful, more difficult, and more courageous.

Many people likely will not relate to this post, but I had to write it for myself. One day, I will look back on this and see how far I’ve grown. I will miss my perfect little London apartment with the ugly black kitchen that I learned to love more than I can put into words. And damn, I will miss this view. It allowed me to look out at the horizon and dream, think, and find peace during the moments when I felt most stressed. This was by far the most beautiful apartment I could have ever wished for, and I feel lucky to have experienced it. But I must believe it is only making space for something even better that is still on its way. For now, I am just learning how to say goodbye to it.