Remember the Horcrux in the magical world Rowling weaved a decade ago (yes it has indeed been a decade)? Horcrux was the wickedest invention where a portion of the soul of person – the essence of oneself is fragmented and stored for the purpose of attaining immortality.

Every time I pack up and move, I leave a part of my soul. A fragmented piece of me stays back. A part of me longs for the routines I left behind. For the magical moments and memories I created. For the comforts I have got used to.

Singapore has been a part of my life for less than 24 months. I did not expect the city to leave its mark on me. But strangely it did. The movers moved the boxes and I walked around the place we called home and was hit by an overwhelming sadness.

Moving is process. I am sure different people feel differently about moving. But to me it is like the constant buzzing of your alarm – irritating but needs to be taken care of. It is like the shrieks of kids playing around the pool – there are moments you marvel at the joy of life and then slowly the shrieks becoming an irritation. Moving is like that.

Moving is like that Sudoku you are trying to solve and you are almost there when you realize you made a mistake right at the beginning. It frustrates you. Moving is like the life of a new mother – you are still coming to terms with everything, trying to recover and also take care of the newborn. You are wiped out most of the time and yet you function.

No wonder many folks prefer to stay put.

I am a wanna-be gypsy. I want to be on the move. I want to live in places I see in the books. I want to leave a part of me there. I am ready to live in a fantasy world. I hate the moving part but it comes with the territory and so I pack up yet again.