For the past few weeks/months, I have been haunted by my decision. It is almost like as though I simply buried my head in the sand and wish with all my might that things will disappear and resolve by themselves.
They didn't.
And as the time looms closer to face the music, I figured I need more answers than questions.
I should no longer question my decision. No matter how illogical it may seem now, it was necessary then and thus it is justified. It is not popular decision, it was challenged by many around me but it is my life. If I don't stand by my life, who will? Everyone has their perception on what is best, but it's ultimately not their life. It is not what they face constantly. If I may be generous enough to say, they are all right in their own way. Based on their experience and observations, they try to give the best advice that they possibly can... Though they may not sit well with me.
In my attempt to ease my pounding migraine, I sat down and started packing. Maybe it is premature, but I feel it is a step I need to take eventually. I will have to, in the end, leave this place and find my own. I will have to disintegrate a shared life, and pick out my own. Some things are easy, like CDs, books... funnily at every move, I begin to realise how little I really need to start on my own.
Photographs are the hardest. I found it hard when faced with his smiling photos, that I realised how much hurt I have caused him. It may remain as my guilt for a long time... Perhaps the easiest would be to leave all those photos behind, and pretend they never existed. That would be cowardice I guess. It was/is part of my life... a good 10 years... and there's no way I can erase that like that. I must learn to accept and see them as a part of me. So I went through most of them and put some in my boxes.
How much memories can one person have? How much will be enough?
