...

'Tis way past the 'witching hour, but sleep eludes me tonight.
Pottering about the house in darkness, lest I wake the others.
I walk into my room - almost unrecognisable now, an unfamiliar smell even.
Have spent much of last week trying to pack some of my life into boxes.
Wondering what to leave behind so that the place doesn't look spare.
Have spent most of the last fortnight agonising over the goodbyes.
How do I say what to whom, what do I tell myself...

Was a very different feeling when I left home 5 years ago.
Remember it vividly - there was a certain celebration in the air.
An anticipation of what lay around the corner, despite a longing for the old.
My father supervising the packing of my holdall, Ma getting ready to accompany me on the journey.
Friends dropping in, bearing motley gifts for the hostel room at all odd hours.
Spent much of the last week trying to pack, spent some time over the goodbyes to significant others.
But there was a brazenness to it all, an eagerness to embrace the new and make it mine.

A lot has changed over these 5 years. I sense the change all around.
There are less people around, for one - that does something to a house somehow.
A heaviness that creeps up on you suddenly, as you watch your mother trying to be strong.
She tries to help me pack but her heart isn't in it, really. I can tell by the way she keeps away.
A few friends who have understood this and stood by solidly. They are sleeping now in the next room.
And that leaves only me. A lot less brazen, a lot more emotional, still undecided.
Poised to take a leap of faith - I look up, the daylight's breaking through...