The day of moving is beckoning. Every which way I turn to in the apartment, there are packing boxes, stacked up or standing alone, sealed or half full. Here and there, scattered everywhere. Looking at them, a glum feeling rises up from within me. Permeating in the air are small yet detectable doses of low spirits that I have been sensing since not long ago when we decided on the move. With the moving day getting closer, the sense only becomes keener — Despite the realization that I can’t possibly place my roots here, I have become somewhat attached to this small space that I have been calling home for the past four years.
Yup, I am soon to leave behind the East Coast where I have spent the past six and half years as a hard-to-get-adjusted transplanter and where the six-months-long winters are full of alternating rains and snows. Happy? Maybe. But then, I am also about to leave behind my younger son, my late mother’s final resting place, and a little bit of familiarity of this area…
To think of that I am soon moving to an area located at the front of receiving the earliest nuclear fallout from the damaged nuclear reactors in Japan, I feel like 飛 蛾 撲 火– a moth flying into the fire. Then again, with a head of salt and pepper hair, I feel fine so long as I don’t lose hair from the radiation. Didn’t they say, gray hair is better than thinning or no hair?
離情總是讓人依依.
So long, New Jersey!
