Moving to London and Everything That Went Behind the Decision
I haven’t been writing for a while now. Around a month and a half, that was when I last posted a blog here at YellowMellowLife. And the reason for that is this big event that is taking place in my life right now.
I had a choice to make – Do I want to pack my whole house and my entire life in 6 bags? Am I Willing to just wrap it all and leave? Am I ready to start my life afresh in another country, in another continent?
I made the choice instantly – YES. In fact, I took absolutely no time to think it through. I said Yes and Mr B said Yes and Little B said Yes and that was it.
It was days after nodding in approval that I started thinking about what does a move mean. When we came back to Bangalore in 2012, after staying in the USA for 4 years, we were desperately looking for “settling down.” We had lived in another land for a long enough time, travelled through it and made some excellent memories along the way. But now we deeply wanted to live in a house we can call our own, get interiors done the way we wanted to, try that textured wall that we always wanted to but couldn’t because we were living on rent earlier. We wanted to find a nest where we can stay forever and ever. We eventually did all that we wanted and we have been enjoying our “settled” life for the last 4 years now.
So now when Mr B comes back home and gives me the news that he is getting a transfer to London, and I feel a sudden thrill, it is kind of ironical actually.
It didn’t quite hit me till we started wrapping up the house. We were allowed to take just 2 bags each (big bags though), when we board the flight. That meant that we had to pack our whole house in 6 bags. And because it is impossible to pack everything that is there in a house in 6 bags, it meant parting with a lot of personal stuff. It meant leaving those things behind which gave you great memories or things which you thought you couldn’t stay a day without.
And that’s when I reconsidered my decision. Packing our things and parting sounded like an upheaval. It felt that all our time and energy that we spent in making this house our home was all for nothing.
I felt like a really stupid bird who spends four years making a beautiful nest and then within seconds shreds the nest back to twigs.
When I thought for a few more days, the idea of move felt more bearable, it felt like disruption that I should be able to adjust to. But the mental agony didn’t stop there. For days that followed, the dilemma went on – to move or not to move. I toggled from yes to no and then from no to yes. In all that madness, that one thing that I was continuously feeling, right from the first time I was asked about the move was – the thrill. And probably it was the thrill that made the decision for me.
What to pack and what not to pack, or what to part with or what not to part with are all petty things actually. I realised that my life should not be guided by things that I own and furniture that I bought. My memories should not be constricted to the house they were made at or the photo frames that hang with pictures from those days. My memories should stay in my mind with photos etched in my heart.
If I want to make more memories, I shouldn’t doubt the move. I should just get up and leave. If I have to pack my entire life in 6 bags, then be it; it is irrelevant any which way.
So that is what we are doing – We are moving to the one of the craziest cities in the world, the one that Lonely Planet calls a “gothic grandeur by the river.”
We are moving to London.