Three months ago, I emptied my room. I got rid of a TV cart that doesn’t hold a TV, a study table filled with clutter, an office chair with a pile of used clothes that aren’t “dirty enough,” two printers, and a corkboard. All these stuff I had hanging around in my room did not serve me a greater purpose. All they did was take up a lot of space. And so, one day, I decided to move them all out.
Or so I thought this was the reason. The real reason I emptied my room was I had put off letting go of someone for so long.
Letting go of things was a diversion. It was an easier task. Letting go of stuff didn’t mean having to deal with the fear of being alone or the thought of seeing this one person hold someone else’s hand. I didn’t have to look at them, breathe deeply, and muster the courage to potentially break someone’s heart. I didn’t have to watch them stop their tears from falling.
Letting go of things simply meant moving them to another room and finding a better spot for them, and I had wished letting go of people were that easy—simply pushing pieces of furniture to another room then wiping off the dust from the floor I’ve left uncleaned for months because what used to be there covered it up completely, so I joyfully pretended that my room was clean.
But then after the room is empty, I stood by the door, satisfied with the results. I’ve got everything I needed in that room. I didn’t need all those stuff, but I needed the space. So, at the end of the day, I had all the space to dance around to my favorite song.