I've got three heavy bags and one large plastic container. That's where all my books are stored until I find an apartment tomorrow morning. Yes, we're moving once again. After spending three Christmases and three New Year's Eves we're, well, not exactly moving up, but moving on. I can't say that I am not excited about moving to another apartment. I just have too much bad memories in this one. What's amazing though is how much stuff we have accumulated after three years. I remember moving to this apartment with a bag of clothes and a few things stuffed inside my mother's van. Now, it would probably take us a truck before we could finally haul everything out. I'm not sure if it's a literal metaphor of how my boyfriend and I had grown through the years but something tells me it's a positive thing. Well, positive in a metaphorical sense but certainly not literally as I can't seem to figure how I'll have enough energy to carry these things down the building. I haven't even started on our clothes and other stuffs. I was only able to take down the shelf and collected the magazines. God good, I never realized how much back issues of Vogue and W Magazines I have collected. I mean, how many Vogue issues does a gay man need? I took down the books first because that's what I am most excited about. When we finally find our new place, I plan to create my own study corner where I could place my books and look at them whenever I am in desperate need of inspiration. Maybe I'll have a cute table where I could keep my notebook and a plant underneath to filter the smoky air when I am writing and chain smoking.

To be fair, my brother has really been divine recently. He not only offered to lend me some money so we could find our own apartment, he has also given us his portable stove, which is kind of nice since the boyfriend is a good cook. I guess, that's how desperate he is to cut us loose. Every time he catches me home, he always ask me about our new place and I kept lying that I have already found one. I'm not sure really why I have this urge to lie when I could tell him the truth. He is, after all, my brother. I think I just don't need another person telling me what I am doing wrong. What is even more ridiculous is that I have already taken out some of our things in our sala when I still don't have an idea where we will move. I'll probably look for an apartment tomorrow after my trip to the gym. I just hope that the new place doesn't have 1. ghosts, 2. catty neighbors, and 3. thugs and thieves. What I am hoping though is that it would have a nice toilet where I could take long leisurely baths without thinking how icky the floors are.


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