Packing has always been my bedbug ever since I can remember. It’s a chore that drives me batty and heaven help the person within close proximity. Packing for a trip is not that bad – I just stuff everything into my bag. But it’s a different story when we’re talking about packing to move house. When I moved from flat to flat in Singapore I asked my housekeeper to put in extra hours to help (read: she packed everything) put all my stuff in boxes. Fortunately, I had someone (my ex-boyfriend) then to unpack everything and put them where they belonged. The situation has changed. My housekeeper is not here and my boyfriend and I have parted ways. I am on my own to pack everything, which is making my blood boil. *Inhale, exhale*

Slipping into an Oprah moment, I discovered there is a lesson to be gleaned in packing. It’s the universe’s way of teaching me patience. It’s part of the process of new beginnings such as living in a new area thus having the chance to experience new things. However, I’m not looking forward to commuting to work at almost at the crack of dawn but, as the universe wants me to learn, it’s all part the process called living. One can’t always be in one’s comfort zone – packing is an aberration for me.  Aside: Balance as Ketut Iyer would probably say if we were face-to-face.

I’m almost done with packing. I’m just waiting for the helper to arrive and pack my cutlery and crockery. My part is done – the boxes are strategically placed in the kitchen and waiting to be filled.


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