brevity is the soul of what?

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Location: Montreal

22 February 2006

the city is a patchwork quilt.

there is something oddly disconcerting about your own reminiscences. my life is vastly different from what i would have expected of myself, and it's uncomfortable for me to be in the limbo of living, at least materialistically, half in one country and half in another. that material life is strewn haphazardly in boxes piled higher than i am tall in my parents' already-bloated garage, and i don't have an answer for their requisite "what are you doing with your life" queries. that's a loaded but cliche question for anyone in their mid-20s with no career prospects in sight, but it seems almost a joke for me since it's more than just a question of when i'm going to get a 'real' job. life was so much easier when i wasn't trying to immigrate.

now that my life has been compartmentalised into banker's boxes, it's quite clear to me what i'm petrified to lose in a fire. the morbid thought occured to me whilst trying to avoid dead old daddy long-legses. did you ever pack a fire bag? in mine, when i was 12, was my teddy bear, probably some pictures of friends i have long since figured i was better off without, and a few letters. how realistic is this? now i have an accidental fire bag in the form of my parents' sugarcube-shaped home, and i can't prioritise it when i need to.


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