Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Three days left. . . be still my heart

Iam used to moving. I have been moving for as long as I can remember. I used to like to think of myself as an expert in moving. But there is a difference between walking a tightrope 3 feet off the ground and walking the same tightrope several stories up. I can say that I prepared for a move with no fear whatsoever just because of the very "correctability" of the move. I would move from Quezon City to Tarlac City to Novaliches in a heartbeat and not have any problems because of the very real fact that even if I screw it up or even if I left things behind,
This is my "countdown" to how many days I have left until
the flight, which, of course, will reflect that there are
no days left if I'm actually with her already.
I can always come back to either get my stuff, whether it were with my folks or in my former apartment.

But thanks to the sheer "uncorrectability" of the move to Oz is promising to be, I am (shamefully) at my wit's end. There's the weight restriction, for one. And then there's the stuff I'm not allowed to bring (my cherished heirloom sword). These are all severely limiting to someone who is sentimental and loves his stuff. I just extracted a promise from my mother to box up all the stuff I leave behind. For what? I'm not coming back for them, am I? The sort of rationalizations that play in my head is the possible scenarios of my kids poring over my old stuff and finding out what their old man is like. Possible, but probably improbable. Why am I like that? And why am I like that only when it is this particular move? I have gotten rid of stuff that had had "sentimental value" before with no ill effects; why now?

My wife asks me the same question everytime baggage of another kind would occassionally crop up in our conversation. It is so easy to leave hang-ups when the move seems to be "small-scale" but "large-scale" (perhaps I should have used the term "larger-scale" instead) moves show me clinging stubbornly and desperately to those same hang-ups? Why am I like that?

Fortunately, these same limitations may be the very things that will help me let go. Perhaps the very transitoryness of a Pastor's Kid's life has taught me to let go. Maybe what I felt was "small-scale" and "large-scale" is not so much a matter of degree but merely impression. When my hard disk crashed and I lost my portable camcorder, I was bothered but now I rarely miss them—I survived and went on.

Of course, when I talk about one particular emotion for the sake of the unity of a post there is a danger that the reader will assume that that is the only emotion I am feeling and not have an accurate picture of the "me-as-I-am". It isn't. What I've just written down is just the small, nagging itch amidst the torrent of joy and giddiness I am floating in with the thought that I shall be joining Ærynn soon. As I write this, the Daisy Chain above says "3 days until we are together." This is happiness. This is joy. After so many times of having to adjust the Daisy Chain, finally it is going to remain as it is and to let the countdown continue. This is happiness. This is joy. And maybe coming just as I am and leaving all those other things that seem to be so important right now doesn't even count as a price to pay to be with my wife.

And, maybe someday much later, I will have to think of leaving more behind to be in more glorified surroundings.