by Valerie Lopez
WHITMAN COLLEGE PIONEER

Having to say farewell to relationships is never an easy experience. Unless of course, we’re saying goodbye to relationships that have contributed much damage to our emotional health and psyche.

It’s also another thing when the relationship we’re saying goodbye to is not an actual, living person. And no, I’m not speaking of imaginary friends or such sort, I’ve already said goodbye to mine a long time ago. I’m actually speaking of a room.

Yes, a room. I don’t know about many people, but I’m actually the type of individual that can get quite attached to personal spaces. Therefore, this whole business of moving out and in before finals are over can be quite a sad experience. Be that as it may, I think that moving out can elicit varied responses, depending on the type of relationship we have with our own particular rooms/habitations.

Room relationship a). There are several factors that can contribute to a rocky relationship with a particular space. If our particular neighbors have a certain penchant for hosting dance parties at ungodly hours during ungodly days of the week, if our spaces seem to be the mothership of several species of bugs, if the overall aesthetics of our rooms are not living-tolerable, if we have deep-seated issues with a roommate, then severing this type of room relationship is equivalent to saying goodbye to an asshole of a significant other. Most of the times, it’s very easy to say good bye and move on.

Room relationship b). If you are, then, the type of individual that does not get attached to personal spaces, then moving out is most likely an apathetic experience, generally. It’s most likely even annoying to do, because of all the hassle and everything. But I guess I wouldn’t really know, because as you can most likely predict, I am no such individual. Heh.

Room relationship c). Now this is where I come in. Packing in things can indeed be a sad experience. All the posters and trinkets and random shit you’ve managed to accumulate in your room have become transformed and metamorphosed with the memories you’ve invested in them.

Packing stuff in is also a very retrospective experience: it is inevitable to recount all your memories as you roll down posters, unpin photographs of friends, emptying drawers, putting wine bottles away (relics of funfunfun nights), and all that jazz. Bare walls and empty closets are just plain depressing. And the thought, oh the sad thought, of someone else residing in the room where you’ve had so many life-stuff experiences, is like the cherry to an amazingly depressing ice cream sundae. This severing of room experience is akin to saying goodbye to a good romantic relationship: you pack up your things, you think about all the amazing things that have happened, and then you take one last look and say goodbye. I know, it’s pretty sad.

But hey, there’s always the upside of moving out. It means you get to move in somewhere else, you get to make your mark, and add on to the history of a room where it has seen the glories and heartaches of the individuals living before you. New beginnings can be refreshing and empowering. It’s like getting to know a new friend. While the physical hassle of moving in can get very annoying, making the room your own personal space can be therapeutic. It’s a physical act of rooting yourself to a space, investing your own sense of individuality without fear or hesitation. For me, being open to moving in translates to being open to a new life-stuff experience.

I guess, at the very fuzzy inner core of moving in and out, underpinning such experience is dealing with a form of change. It can get slightly depressing, depending on how we attribute triviality or importance to a situation, but if we’re open to it enough, moving out and into a new place can be a very gratifying experience.