There has always been a part of me that never grew up. That part of me that is a little girl, has always remained timid, shy and dependent, forever afraid of change. Today, as I moved my belongings to my friend's flat, the weight amassed over three years of being a student here in the UK burdened me. There were very kind people who helped, of which I am very grateful, but the fact that I received help frightens me. I've always had help, be it from kind housemates, thoughtful friends or a caring boyfriend. What would I do when I'm by myself? I suddenly realized that I'm by myself. Out of the three categories of help I often receive, I'm now down to two, and even from those two, who really are my friends? Do friends really have the capacity to care sincerely for you? These thoughts depress me. I am really alone after all, with only God to cling on for real.
The flight of stairs I took today while shifting my stuff up to the topmost floor continued winding up in an everlasting spiral in my pessimistic imagination. My ankle was sprained today and it's starting to swell. A Legoland of boxes at my friend's flat caused me to feel slightly claustrophobic. The dirty microwave in their kitchen made me sad. The thought of shifting my belongings in September to my new flat by myself initiated a bubble of despair in my stomach. See how trivial these thoughts are but yet how negatively I'm affected by them?
I blame it all on the unfamiliarity of the situation, the new life I'll be living in the next 10 weeks. Hard work, little sleep, new people, daily tube or bus rides, independence. I'm just me now, not defined by anyone else. Just me. And although that's liberating, it scares me.