Packing blues

How do you pack up 6 years of your life into a box? As the countdown begins to the end of my English sojourn, I find myself wavering. For 6 years, I've wished for this day. How much I've longed to finally throw those academic texts aside and plunge headfirst into the working world with all my youthful ideals. How much I've wanted to move on from this busy city with its polluted streets, austere buildings, and gloomy weather. Having shifted numerous times, I don't exactly have that many belongings. Every year I remind myself that I'm going home soon, so I try not to hoard too many warm clothes or random things. I ordered 5 big boxes from the shipping company. Each can carry up to 40 kg, but I think I'll probably only manage to fill up 3 or 4. As I strip the walls bare of photos and Blu-tack, I can't stop the pangs of sadness. It only took 5 minutes to put them up, but it takes half and hour to remove them? The walls suddenly look so white. Memories. Bits of them lie in every nook and cranny of this flat. And I clear them away, storing them neatly into boxes and sealing the lid on them. My room is starting to look more spacious. First-years are moving in next year. They'll have at least 3 years to fill these shelves, all these empty spaces. Was it that long ago when I first stepped into UCL? Looking out the window, I see people walking around in shorts, skirts and skimpy tops. The sun is on full blast. I've missed the warm weather. A group of people are sitting outside the pub downstairs. They're talking and laughing. It's not English. Funny, I can't help but snicker. There's something about summer that makes London come alive. I just noticed it a little too late.