I live between two continents which despite being incredible in many ways, lacking a single place which I can call entirely my own, is unsettling.
As term ends, the quarterly packing begins, and with it, the inevitable clear-out. Whilst I try and uphold minimalist tendencies, I have accumulated a bank of unnecessary stuff. Morbid it may be, but whenever I pack, the underlying thought in my mind concerns my death. If I were to die before I came back, what would I leave behind. It is this that spurs on my urge to organise and tidy.
So, I order my books and label the borrowed, pile neatly in a suitcase the charity shop goods, work through my paperwork, and mourn for the one who in the event of my death would have to sort through and decipher my grammar notes.