On Leaving Home - Packing, Belongings & Love

Part 2 of a series on home

I sit on the floor of my living room, right in the middle of a mess. Suitcases, bags, clothes, kitchenware, groceries, books, toiletries, devices and belongings I struggle to even identify. Pushed by the limited airlines baggage allowance, I wrestle violently with “What is necessary enough to carry it with me to another country?”

With this I am also getting sucked into the swamp of existential dread. The chaos around me finds its osmosis within, making the inner whirlpool of emotions intense beyond measure. The packing mayhem engulfs me.

My mother and brother look at my freezing self and remind me to breathe. Maa tells me “Move away and let me take charge of the packing.” Usual to our sibling dynamics, Bhai says, “Ye toh bas shuruaat hai, Didi! Aage aur kitna kuch karna hai aapko. Overthink mat karo!” (This is just the start, sister! You have to do so much more in the future. So, don’t overthink!)

Meanwhile, my phone is buzzing with notifications. Replies from my ever-reliable friends from different parts of the world poured in. Just a while ago I had sent panic-stricken texts to them. “Don’t worry bro. You are not wrong or alone in this. Packing away your entire life in 3 suitcases is hard!” said one. Another expressed “I feel you. But, be spontaneous. You will find everything there! Travel lean, live light.” A friend kindly offered to run through my entire packing list and help weed out the unnecessary items. I heart all messages, sending emojis of love. I feel grateful. I feel loved.

Leaving home is a reminder of the many compassionate, loving people I am lucky to lean on as I navigate an uncertain journey.

I write in my notes app, “I feel like a hoarder! I took for granted the luxury of a stable life at home with ample space at my disposal. Now, I don’t know who I am without all that which contributes to the sum of me. How can I learn to be on the journey if I can’t even be a minimalist?” My dramatic self sends out this as a reply to all.

I look at my beautiful bookshelves. I might not have read each of these books but there is a story behind each and every one of them. Each represents a memorable phase of my life when I bought them out of curiosity, creativity, happiness, stress, fear, sorrow and grief. How can I leave significant parts of my life behind?

I look at my endless piles of clothes. There is a memory and emotion associated with each item. The dress I bought for my 19th birthday. The T-shirt which is my comfort wear. The jeans that have the most flattering fit. The suit my mother gifted to me. The saree I inherited from my Nani. How can I leave behind memories and emotions that add to my everyday life?

I look at my kitchenware. They never meant a thing to me until now as I curled up in the cocoon of Maa’s caretaking with “ghar ka khana” being my lifeline. Now, these utensils and groceries will replace them. Food is central to my life. Cooking might be central to restarting my life abroad. I can always buy these items there but they won’t give me the reassurance that my mother’s handpicked objects do. How can I leave behind something that holds the promise of comfort in uncertain times?

I look at the many farewell gifts that friends and family have thoughtfully given to me. Polaroid photos to decorate my new room. Novels on home and adventure with hand-written messages. Diaries with hand-made papers. Journals for creative writing. Earrings. Necklace. Jacket. Scarf. Lipstick. Wrist watch. Moisturiser. Coffee Mug. Postcard. Letters. How can I leave behind any of these prized possessions and the underlying precious emotions?

I look at my little dog, sleeping blissfully on a woollen rug in one of my suitcases. His classic loud snoring is both adorable and annoying right now. “I wish I was a dog. Loved, fed, massaged and put to sleep for 20 hours a day, with no care for anything in this world - every day for the rest of my life!” I declare to my family who laugh at my silliness. 

My relationship with my little Zeus will change drastically, I think to myself. Unlike with humans where calls can connect us, the bond with fur babies is often one of touch and proximity. His angry demands for massages, my endless overwhelming cuddles, his affectionate embrace when I am low, us sleeping in the warmth of each other at night and him welcoming me home with unbelievable excited jumps and pouncing - all this will be an irreplaceable loss from a distance. How can I leave him behind?

I look up at Maa and Bhai, busy figuring out my packing. My people, who always have my back. My entire world, right here, in flesh and blood. Can’t I just pack them up and take them with me? I tear up at the thought of leaving them behind. 

Leaving home, especially at this moment, feels bitter sweet. It is the hardest thing to do. Yet, deep down I know that it is the most worthwhile thing to do.

Leaving home is an act of courage. Especially when you’ve fought hard to build that home. Particularly if you felt happy, stable and content at home. Notably when it’s the age and stage of conventionally settling down on a shore rather than unsettling your life for a voyage in the uncertain seas. However, to know when a cultivated home will become a sedentary cocoon is crucial, and to leave at the right time is paramount. So, I muster the courage to leave home.  

Leaving home is the pursuit of the self. It is, of course, about chasing dreams, fulfilling aspirations and leveraging opportunities. However, everything pales in comparison to the window of transformation that leaving home offers. In many ways, I stand at the doorway of transition today. I look at the other side and faintly hear a different version of myself call out to me. I know I must do this for her. I know I must do this for myself. I know I must leave home.

And so, I must tackle this packing mayhem.

I am not a minimalist, and I don’t intend to be one. I want to live life with intentionality. That doesn’t necessarily mean staying minimalist, I assure myself. But, I need to accept that I may not always have everything that makes me who I am lying around me to feel like myself; these things made me me and that is all that I need to carry with me as I leave home.

I need to declutter. I need to let go wherever possible. I need to keep my baggage light if I want to soar high in this next chapter of my life. I think of the real and metaphorical skies awaiting me.

I come back to the task at hand, directing myself “Enough thinking done. Only acting now, Sanskriti.” Along with Maa and Bhai I go through my excel sheet, meticulously scanning every item and weighing my bags obsessively, until it is all in place. 

I think I am finally good to go, until I surprisingly realise that I have a few kgs of luggage space in one suitcase. Perplexed, I ask Maa what was going on with this bag. She smiles at me and runs to the kitchen. Maa brings out dabbas of pinnis and says, “Iske liye jagah bachai thi yaha. Non-negotiable hai ye lejana!” (I had saved up space for these. Taking them is non-negotiable!)

Every winter I devour these delicious sweets which my Punjabi mother makes with concern and affection. It would always be prefaced with Maa saying “Sardiyo mei taakat aati hai isse.” (This makes you strong in the cold) This year I will face the coldest winter of my life in a cold temperate country. I didn’t know I needed these, until Maa surprised me.

Leaving home is a reminder of all the caring people who are silently looking out for me, in ways I can’t even see.

Looking at the pinnis my poignant self gets up and throws herself at Maa with a tight hug. “I love you, Maa. How are you like this? All that I am and all that I hope to be is because of you. It is all for you!” We both cry. Bhai laughs at us. Zeus continues to snore. Everything about this moment feels perfect. I feel home.

As I keep my mother’s love soaked pinnis in my bag, leaving home feels easy. Love is non-negotiable in life. I carry it with me miles away from my home, even when I leave home. My home is inside my heart where all my loved ones and all these precious belongings reside. My heart feels heavy with the weight of so much that I am lucky to have. My heart feels light with the strength and nourishment that all of it provides me. No baggage allowances can curtail that. 

The packing mayhem finally paved the way for peace inside my heart.

With love in my heart, I am ready to leave home. I belong to the journey now.

Dear Reader, thank you for reading this essay and for being on this journey with me. I am so grateful!
This is following up on part 1 of the series of home (On being home - Makaan aur Ghar) which you can read here.
I hope that some day, a few months from now life has been kind enough to inspire me to write a part 3 about “On Finding Home Again”.