I’ve been dawdling over my packing the last few days. Knowing it has to be done but loitering over it anyway – indecisively putting clothes in and taking them out again; making patterns on my bed with lipsticks and blush brushes.
I like packing. I hate order in life but like finding order in little things. A well-packed suitcase is a thing of wonder. Pressed and ironed clothes make geometric designs in the case, all the while maintaining a smooth, flat surface. Then comes that tricky layer in the middle where the bulky, shapeless items go: shoes, handbags, that perfume he gave me, the cream I just bought, still in it’s box. I stuff under wear and scarves to fill in the cracks. And perhaps the most trickiest to pack: bras. I wish I was a small-breasted girl who didn’t need them, but alas, I am not and I do.
Yes, I like packing – but it stresses me out. I don’t stress easy but this always gets me. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because packing is kind of like predicting the future – or at least taking a stab at it. You pack according to what you think you’ll be doing. But no one really knows, do they? I have a rough idea – I’ll be seeing my sisters, my friends, my aunt in her house by the beach. But what about those delicious unknowns in between? How to plan for those? How to pack for those?
I’ve never been a fan of prediction. I deliberately don’t read horoscopes because I think it’s bad luck. Superstition turned on it’s head, I know. Still, it is what it is. I may not have lived long, but I’ve been alive long enough to know that life knocks the socks off you if you try plan it too much. So, I don’t.
People push me to make this arrangement and that and I obediently do what’s required – nod – and say what’s required – ‘oh yes I must’ – and promptly forget about it. It’s not that I’m stubborn or even lazy, it’s just that I kind of want to see where life takes me. I know it’ll take me somewhere.
It’s not as if I want to sit on a couch all day and hope something great will materialize out of thin air. I just want to do what I do… And then see.
Trying too hard has always spoiled things for me. I don’t intend to prove myself any more correct than I’ve already done in the past.
So when I pack, I always feel a little like I’m packing blind. It’s exciting, because it makes me feel closer to my destination. But all that planning gives me a headache. I also don’t want to kick myself later and think “all that planning and I forgot to bring underwear”.
Speaking of which, I’ve forgotten to put in my pyjamas. Note to self.