As I moved all of my stuff to my luggages, one by one, it felt like peeling off layers of history in the apartment. Objects from different years and eras, with me as their only interpreter, are dislocated in the most mundane way possible, which makes the experience all the more violent. Once my room was stripped to the bone, the illusion of Home broke and the room became a blank page for someone’s next chapter. What does it mean to disappear, I ask myself, like truly disappear?
#microfiction