Yesterday, I closed the door to my first apartment for the very last time with a tinge of sadness. As I walked throught the empty rooms, flashes of memories flit through my mind.

I looked at the greying carpet and remembered its early shiny sheen. I remembered the first night I slept in my airconditioned, carpeted room (the first time I had aircond in my own room) feeling really proud of myself for owning the place, my first real home. (All my life I had lived in rented houses or rooms. I didn’t have the security of a house to call home until then although rented houses did a good job of being “home” most of the time.) Its just a cheap, 20 (now 30) year old walk up apartment but I felt pride nevertheless.

I saw my wedding dress hanging at the window, the night before my wedding and the sisters and nieces who came to be with me that night. This was the place where we “chut moon” (bride’s house) from to go to the groom’s house for the tea ceremony which is why my heart is heavy not to be able to see the place again, the place where I held my wedding tea ceremony. (Most people would hold the tea ceremony at their parent’s house because it is a symbol to show that you are now leaving your parent’s home to go to the grooms family home to be wed to the groom. I didn’t have any family house so my own apartment was used as the bride’s house for the ceremony. Nevermind I suppose, I have photos as a reminder)

I saw through my minds eye, the good times I spent there with my dad and boyfriend (hubby now). Yes, I felt sad to say goodbye.

The whole weekend was very busy for us organising and making the move (this is only the beggining!) made worse by the fact that baby had runny nose and a fever. Poor baby did not get the bed rest he needed and had to follow us around. I carried him all day while we dealt with lorry drivers, contractors etc.

My poor little baby. Got to go and manja him now and continue this post some other time.

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