I finally packed my room yesterday after letting the dust settle in there for the last few months. I'm always too tired I guess, with school and work.

Halfway through, I found this poem which I wrote about a year ago. In it, I wrote many questions, questions with answers I've yet to find. But anyway, I don't need to know them anymore. When I reread that poem, I remembered how I felt at that time, what I was doing and who I was writing about- yet, it feels so foreign because I felt as though it wasn't me. Maybe I changed too much over the past year.

Clearing the room can be quite therapeutic yet disturbing at the same time. (except when it comes to darr's room of course... I think it'll just be disturbing or traumatising. you need a shovel to have a clear path. pardon me darr! :P) It's good to throw 5 big bags to stuff away but yet, there's the disturbing part of me feeling like I'm having amnesia- you know, like sudden flashbacks.

Previously, whenever I throw something away, I will always take it out of the trash bag and put it back to its original position as I was afraid that I'll regret it in future. This time round, the stuff remained firmly in the bags and went straight down the rubbish chute. I felt absolutely fine abt throwing things which I used to treasure. I guess its a good thing? I kept the poem though, not due to any leftover feelings... sort of a reminder of how I used to be. I don't seem to have any sad memories left after I deleted my old blog and threw away my diary and I used to blog only when I'm very upset. I don't want to keep any sad memories.

Maybe just one.